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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24057871">The Marauders: Post Azkaban</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caverdash/pseuds/Caverdash'>Caverdash</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Marauders [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Post-Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:47:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,683</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24057871</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caverdash/pseuds/Caverdash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the same world as my other work The Marauders: School, mostly canonical but with Remus Lupin re-imagined as my own character- Morgana. Fast forwarded in time to right after Sirius's escape from Azkaban. Eventually, the scenes will connect to each other and with the other work.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Marauders [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I take it, you’ve seen the papers?”<br/>
<br/>
Morgana sighed heavily and nodded. “I’ve seen the papers.”<br/>
<br/>
“And?”<br/>
<br/>
“And… if anyone was capable of escaping from Azkaban of course it would have to be Sirius.”<br/>
<br/>
“You still call him Sirius?”<br/>
<br/>
“That is his name.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’d have thought you’d have switched to calling him Black by now.”<br/>
<br/>
“Does it make his crimes any less heinous, referring to him by his last name?”<br/>
<br/>
“No, I suppose not. But it does seem like it would be a rather healthy way for you distance yourself from the memories of who you thought he was.”<br/>
<br/>
Morgana looked at him, hard. “I’m distanced.”<br/>
<br/>
Dumbledore nodded. “Good. Otherwise this very long journey would be for no reason.” Morgana handed Dumbledore a cup of tea and sat.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m curious to hear the reason for this very long journey.”<br/>
<br/>
“I need to fill a teaching position—” Morgana was laughing before he even finished the sentence.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re offering me Defense Against the Dark Arts?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes. Harry needs you—”<br/>
<br/>
“Harry is not a pawn that you can just throw in my face every time you want me to do your bidding.” She interrupted, sharply.<br/>
<br/>
“There’s no one else alive on this planet that knew Sirius better than you. There’s no one else better to protect against him now.”<br/>
<br/>
“You’re offering me a cursed faculty position because my ex turned out to be a psychotic mass murderer and is suddenly on the loose. You know how insulting that is, don’t you?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m offering you, a talented witch with an unfortunate dark creature classification, an opportunity to teach at the most prestigious institute of magical learning in all of Europe.” Dumbledore’s eyes swept around her tiny kitchen and lingered on her shabby, tattered curtains. “And, I know you can’t afford to turn this down.”<br/>
<br/>
Morgana scoffed. “I can’t believe we never saw it before. How good you are at manipulating people. We were all so naïve back then. I used to think you were infallible.”<br/>
<br/>
Dumbledore smiled, sadly. “It’s good to see you know better now.” He stood. “The term begins on September 1st. You are allowed to set your own curriculum for the most part; there are only a few key topics that are required to be covered. I’ll send an owl with the necessary paperwork.”<br/>
<br/>
“We haven’t even talked about how dangerous it would be for me to be around the students.”<br/>
<br/>
“Things are very different from when you were in school. Wolfsbane potion, for one. Severus is more than capable of brewing it. September 1st, Morgana.” He said again and was gone.<br/>
<br/>
"I never said yes." Morgana told the empty kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
She had awoken in a cold sweat every night since she had seen the headline in the Prophet about the breakout from Azkaban, still shaking from dreams that were already half forgotten by the time she sat up. Dumbledore was right. She was the only one left. The only one who remembered Sirius the way he was before, who understood the way he thought. And she did know at least one thing about him that no one else alive knew. <em>I should tell Dumbledore</em>, she thought. She felt as though she was standing very near the edge of a precipice. All it would take to plummet over the edge was one small push. <em>I should tell Dumbledore about Padfoot</em>. Oh, but that way was madness, a terrible death march down memory lane where each reminiscence was nothing more than a pit of quicksand waiting to swallow and suffocate. How could she tell Dumbledore about that now, when the very fact was a betrayal of everything he had ever done for her? But she didn’t have to tell, now, did she, her mind whispered. Because now she would be there at Hogwarts. Even if no one else but her knew that Sirius was an animagus, she would be there to stop him. To protect Harry. Morgana sighed again. Dumbledore was right. She needed to stop thinking of him as ‘Sirius’.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>She arrived at Kings Cross several hours too early. The train was still cordoned off and she wandered around for a few minutes before spotting a harried looking witch in Hogwarts Express scarlet bustling down the platform. “Excuse me?” The witch slowed and eyed Morgana’s threadbare robes.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, yes, this is platform 9 ¾. You’re in the right spot, your little Timmy or whatever will not miss his train to school. It doesn’t leave for another four hours,” the witch said, dismissively.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m the new defense against the dark arts teacher,” Morgana replied, quickly, before the witch could rush away again. “I believe the headmaster sent word that I would be coming?” The witch looked at her again, more closely, and Morgana could practically feel her taking note of the dark circles under her eyes. “I was hoping I could just board early. It was quite a tiring journey here.” The witch pursed her lips.<br/>
<br/>
“I can see that it was. There’s no alcohol allowed on the train, just so you know.” Morgana fought the urge to scoff and nodded.<br/>
<br/>
“Understood.” The witch sighed dramatically and turned away from Morgana. She took a heavy key ring from her belt and unlocked the nearest car. She waved, rather rudely, towards the open door and hurried off again. Morgana stood for a minute longer, immersing herself in the moment. It was impossible to apparate directly to Hogwarts, there were too many magical wards surrounding the castle. But she could have apparated into Hogsmeade, rested off last night’s full moon at the Three Broomsticks, and then headed to the school grounds through the tiny wizarding village. It wasn’t necessary for her take the train. In fact, it felt a little like self-flagellation. But she hadn’t been able to help herself. She had wanted to see what it would feel like, to revisit the experience they had had growing up together now that she was adult and alone.<br/>
<br/>
She stepped aboard the train. Everything was exactly the same; and she was rocked by the force of memory. It felt like time was circling around itself and she was experiencing the past and present at once. The car was empty, but it was also filled with voices. Echoes of forgotten laughter and whispers off long dead lips. She was glad there was no one around to see her, surely she must look like she was having some sort of mental breakdown. She walked on unsteady legs and sat down in a compartment. One lonely person in a compartment made for six. But it didn’t matter how many people it could hold, because everyone she would have shared it with was gone. Morgana shook her head, trying to clear the morbid thoughts. This was going to be a very long year. For once, she was grateful to be so exhausted from the moon. The train had been a mistake. Hopefully, she would sleep the whole way there.</p><p><br/>
<em>The light was on. She could see it creeping out from the gap under the door. Her heart beat a little faster. So he was home. I shouldn’t go in. I should walk away. Her feet carried her closer. Just five minutes. I can stay for tea, maybe, but not dinner. She turned the doorknob. He sat on the couch, head in hand. She entered as quietly as she could, keeping the knob turned until the door was flush with the frame. She only let go when she was sure the latch could slide back into place silently. He didn’t look up. She stood without a sound, studying him. He had such nice hands. She wondered, absurdly, if he had ever played a piano. I’ll ask him when this is over. He wasn’t still. His back was shaking. He’s crying, she realized. Her stomach plummeted. I can’t stay here. If he looks up I’ll never be able to go back. But she didn’t move. He looked up. Her breath caught. “Moony?” So much emotion in one word. Don’t tell me what’s wrong. I don’t want to know. I can’t help. “Regulus is dead.” I have to go back. I have a job to do. I can’t stay here. I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry. This was a mistake. He stood up. I need to leave. He was coming toward her and if she didn’t leave now—</em>
</p><p><br/>
Morgana jolted upright. She reacted without even realizing what was happening. In one fluid motion she was on her feet, drawing her wand as she stood. The compartment was freezing and she was no longer alone. She saw their robes before anything else, rotting and fluttering. So that explained the dream, anyway. “Epecto Patronum!” The dementors were driven back and slowly the cold receded. She looked around the compartment and her heart seized. For one horrifying second, she thought that she might not have expelled the dementors after all and they had instead dredged up the ghost of James to torment her. But it was only Harry. She did her best to stifle the scream that had risen to her lips.<br/>
<br/>
“Um, Professor?” A tiny, hesitant voice. Morgana jumped again and looked around before realizing the girl with the bushy brown hair was speaking to her. <em>Oh, right</em>, she thought, confusedly, <em>that’s me. I’m the adult in this situation. What a scary thought that is.</em><br/>
<br/>
“Yes, um, hello Ms…?”<br/>
<br/>
“Granger,” the girl replied. “Was that a dementor?” Morgana’s head was throbbing. First the moon, then dementors, then Harry, and now children. What in Merlin’s name had possessed her to take the train? She needed to pull it together. Morgana looked around at the children in the compartment, her eyes landing on Harry last. She had to stop herself from staring. Mercifully, Harry, at least, seemed to be unconscious, but the others were staring at her expectantly in various states of shock. She took a steadying breath and reached into her bag for her chocolate.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes,” she said, because she could think of nothing else to say. Morgana handed the girl—Ms. Granger, she amended-- the chocolate. “Here, share this amongst yourselves, it will help.” She opened the compartment door. “If you’ll excuse me.” She stepped out into the hallway, slid the door shut, and slumped against the wall. Merlin, she needed a drink. This reminded her of the witch from the platform and she snorted aloud to herself. A passing student gave her a startled look and moved to clear an even wider berth as he walked by. This only made Morgana laugh harder. A very long year indeed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sirius did not want to change back into human. There was no way that would be good for him. The parts of his mind that were functioning on a level a little higher than the dog brain wondered if he would be able to stay sane if he changed back. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure if he was sane now. How did it make sense that Peter would be in the paper? And then, that that paper would somehow find its way to the blackest cell in Azkaban and fall into his hands. Maybe none of this was real, and he was trapped in some fever dream. But he could feel it. The gravel under his paws, the sunlight, the salt from the seawater drying in his fur and making it crunch. He had never been to the sea as Padfoot and the dementors didn’t give memories, they only took them. So that much at least must be real. As for the rest of it, there was nothing to do but go to Hogwarts and see for himself. It had been a long time since he had changed back from the dog. His mind already felt like an overstuffed sack, bursting at the seams, and splitting apart. He could only imagine what it would be like with a human brain. No, Sirius did not want to change to a fully functioning mind. He did not want to be capable of tracing the despondent path of his thoughts all the way back to their terrible conclusions. But he was lost. And he needed to read the map he had stolen and Padfoot couldn’t read. There was no other option.</p><p>He crept down the narrow gully that led to the cave he had settled in for the last few days. He sat back on his haunches and steeled himself. It was time to change back. For a few seconds after, there was only merciful quiet. His hearing dulled and the briny smell of the ocean was no longer as acrid and pungent as it had been. And then he felt it. Despair, sidling up and around him like an old lover, flooding every bone and bonding to each cell. He waited. What did it feel like to be insane? <em>I am Sirius Black</em>, he tried out. There were a lot of disturbing things attached to that thought, but he was able to set them aside for now. Baby steps. <em>I escaped from Azkaban.</em> Yes, this was right too. He could see his hands, filthy and skeletal. The hands of a prisoner. But not anymore. He nodded to himself. <em>Peter Pettigrew</em>, he thought next. And suddenly he was slammed with emotions and memories. Rage, pain, James, guilt, the ruins of Godric’s Hollow, betrayal, a small wailing bundle, shame, confusion, her. He closed his eyes against the tide threatening to engulf him and tried to retreat back into himself. But that way was even worse. He took a deep breath and forced himself to think of Peter again. <em>He betrayed</em>… He stopped before he could become overwhelmed again. It was enough to only remember that Peter had betrayed. <em>I will kill him</em>. Good. This was a solid, uncomplicated rage.<em> I will kill Peter Pettigrew</em>. Yes. This was enough for now. <em>Am I insane?</em> Did it matter? Not in the slightest. He laughed aloud. <em>I am Sirius Black. I escaped from Azkaban. I will kill Peter Pettigrew</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morgana was dead on her feet. It had seemed that the feast had dragged on an unnecessary amount of time. The only thing that had kept her from falling asleep right into her soup was the awkwardness of sharing a table with Severus Snape. The last time she had seen Snape had also been night. She had been undercover as a follower of Voldemort and Snape had been an actual follower. Not for the first time, Morgana wondered why Dumbledore was so adamant about Snape’s trustworthiness. If even Sirius could turn out to be—she caught herself. This was not a topic for dinner time thinking. Morgana was certain, at the other end of the table, that Snape also was wondering the same thing about her. He hadn’t stopped glaring at her the entire meal. She had resisted the urge to flip him off. She was a professor now, and that meant behaving like an adult, for better or worse.<br/><br/>
“Morgana!” Morgana turned, and despite her exhaustion, felt a genuine smile rise to her lips.<br/><br/>
“Professor McGonagall!” Her face was more lined, her hair greyer, but the straight stiff posture was just the same. Professor McGonagall waved her hand at her.<br/><br/>
“My dear child, we are colleagues now, it is Minerva.” Morgana smiled again.<br/><br/>
“Do you call all your colleagues dear child?” Professor McGonagall laughed.<br/><br/>
“I suppose we will both have to amend our ways. Go easy on me, I am old.” She linked her arm through Morgana’s and patted her elbow. “Come, I’ll show you to your office.” Professor McGonagall led her down corridors and up staircases that were as familiar to Morgana as the features of her own face. The feeling of melancholic nostalgia was so weighty that she found herself grateful she hadn’t had to traverse them alone. “I hope you like scotch.” Professor McGonagall said when they arrived, gesturing to a bottle on top of the desk. “A little welcome home gift.” <em>Home</em>, Morgana considered. Maybe it had been, once, but her memories of Hogwarts were tainted now. “Sit.” Professor McGonagall ordered. Morgana smiled to herself. Technically, this was her office, but she took the proffered seat and Professor McGonagall poured them each a sizeable glass. She peered sharply at Morgana. “So, how are you?” It was a loaded question packaged in a friendly inquiry. Morgana took a sip of her scotch and rolled it around on her tongue, trying to give herself some extra time to come up with a suitable answer. She settled on the tamest interpretation.<br/><br/>
“I’m quite nervous for my first lesson.” Professor McGonagall pursed her lips.<br/><br/>
“That’s to be expected,” she said, matter-of-factly. “But I have the highest confidence you are more than prepared. And?”<br/><br/>
“And…” Morgana chose to be willfully obtuse. “Snape has agreed to brew wolfsbane potion for me every month. So that will be a huge relief.” Professor McGonagall nodded, curtly.<br/><br/>
“Yes, yes, I’m certain it will be. Just as I am certain that in time you will be grateful enough to start calling him Severus.” She waved her hand in a ‘move along’ gesture. “And if you’re quite done avoiding, I’d like to ask you again. How are you?” Morgana sighed.<br/><br/>
“I’m tired,” she admitted. Professor McGonagall took a sip of her scotch and waited. “I am tired of thinking about him. Just when I thought I could finally forgive myself for…” She downed the rest of her scotch and Professor McGonagall moved immediately to refill it.<br/><br/>
“You need forgive yourself. You weren’t the only one who was fooled,” Professor McGonagall said, sternly. “He had us all convinced. Somedays, I almost still can’t believe it.”<br/><br/>
“He casts a pall over everything. Everything I remember, everything I think about, everything I do. How can I ever trust my own judgement when I failed so spectacularly with him? Even this job. I would have been thrilled to have this job, even with the one-year term curse. But now it goes back to him.”<br/><br/>
“For the record,” Professor McGonagall said, tersely. “This appointment does not go back to him. You are the most qualified person we’ve hired yet, and you have earned this position.” Morgana smiled, ruefully.<br/><br/>
“That compliment holds less weight when you consider I was preceded by Gilderoy Lockhart and a man who literally had Voldemort on the back of his head hidden under a turban.” Professor McGonagall grimaced.<br/><br/>
“Fair point,” she agreed, grimly. They drank in companionable silence. “Well,” Professor McGonagall said, after a long while. “I should let you rest. I’ll say one last thing before I leave you. Many years ago, I had him in my office and I told that him that his life didn’t revolve around you. And I’ll tell you the same. Your life is not defined by Sirius Black. The mistakes are in the past, Morgana, and it is time to let the dead go.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Sirius Black. Escaped. Kill Peter</em>. It had become a litany. Every time he felt his sanity unspooling, he would repeat it.<em> Sirius Black. Escaped. Kill Peter</em>. Slowly, carefully, he had begun to spend more and more time in his own mind. Short bursts at first, then gradually longer and longer. Each time he tried to weave another part of himself back together. A memory, a thought, an emotion, interlace them all to try to form some semblance of lucidity. Some moments were clearer than others. Sometimes he recalled things only to forget them again the next time. It was in one of his stronger moments of clarity that he gotten it into his head the idea to see Harry. But when the time had come and the boy had been before him, he had looked so much like James that even in his Padfoot mind it had nearly broken him. He’d knocked him down and run off and it had taken him weeks before he had calmed enough to brave human again. His old self probably would have found the whole episode funny, but he hadn’t yet remembered that he used to know how to laugh.<br/>
<br/>
It was very important to him, to get his mind back. Not for him own sanity. But because he wanted very much to see the look in Peter’s eyes when he finally caught him. He wanted to see the look and to understand and remember exactly what it was that he was avenging. What happened after he murdered Peter was of no consequence to him. Maybe they would take him back to Azkaban. If he were lucky, they would just kill him. Or maybe he would kill himself. It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was finding Peter. But the more time he spent as human, the more other thoughts were beginning to intrude. He was beginning to wonder, a relatively alien emotion to his new self. He wondered about the old witch that left Padfoot chicken legs, sometimes, and he wondered about the family that had taken Peter in. He wondered about Harry. And sometimes, sometimes he would wonder about <em>her</em>. He couldn’t remember her name. Or maybe he didn’t want to, yet. There was too much there. He could feel the details of her trickling down through layers of consciousness, the small pebbles that tumbled down before the crashing rockslide he could sense was her entirety. He shied away from it. He wasn't ready to be crushed by the memory of her yet. He had a job to do. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morgana was incredibly nonplussed. She had just left the defense against the dark arts classroom, where she had spent the evening in a special teaching session with Harry. He had come to her wanting to learn how to fight a dementor. This was all well and good, considering his experience on the train and the dementors posted around the school. It wasn’t the fact that he had wanted to learn, that so bothered her, but the <em>why</em> he had wanted to learn. How could he possibly remember that? Those awful last moments when James, and then Lily, had been senselessly killed. The poor kid didn’t need that knowledge rattling around in his brain. Hell, <em>she</em> didn’t need that knowledge rattling around in <em>her</em> brain. And Merlin, she had felt so guilty, when he had looked up at her. Lost and confused, hurting and lonely. If only he knew the truth, the truth about how badly she had failed his parents. How badly she had failed him. ‘<em>Listen, Harry</em>,’ she had wanted to say, ‘<em>my life is a goddamn shitshow. I don’t have any business giving anyone else any advice</em>.’ But she hadn’t. And neither had she told Harry about how his parents had been more her true family than her own blood. Just like she hadn’t told Neville, when she’d invited him to her office for tea and a little extra help fighting kappas, how she’d been there that night. That night when the death eaters had overwhelmed the aurors, and Frank and Alice Longbottom had been reduced to empty husks. And just like she still, still, hadn’t told Dumbledore the crucial piece of the puzzle of how insane, mass murdering Sirius Black had managed to escape and elude the dementors of Azkaban. Morgana set down the essay she was supposed to be grading, buried her face in her hands, and let out a frustrated noise.<br/>
<br/>
There was a light knock. “Come in.” The door swung open to reveal Severus Snape, lurking like an oversize crow.<br/>
<br/>
“Here’s your potion,” he said, curtly, and he strode into the office before she could stand. He set it on the desk.<br/>
<br/>
“Thank you.” Morgana replied, with as much courtesy as she could muster. She turned back to the essay. He continued to stand there. Morgana sighed and looked up again. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Severus?” There had been a sizable pause before she managed his first name and she was sure he had noticed. She was too tired to care.<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t trust you one bit. I don’t buy for one second you and he aren’t in some conspiracy together. The headmaster may not see it, but I know your nature better than most. I haven’t forgotten what happened.”<br/>
<br/>
Morgana cocked an eyebrow. “That’s rich, coming from you,” she said, wryly.<br/>
<br/>
“You were in love with him.”<br/>
<br/>
“I see.” This wasn’t an argument she wanted to be having; but if his goal had been to get a rise out of her, it had worked. “I believe the operative word there is ‘were’. It’s interesting how my decade dead love is enough to condemn me a criminal when apparently your decade old love for Lily seems enough to have absolved you of being one.” Snape flinched. “If only it had been enough when it actually mattered.” He was breathing hard and his hand twitched towards his robe pocket. Morgana tensed, but he never drew his wand.<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t you dare say her name to me, you bloody monster.” he whispered, low and menacing. Morgana stood. Vainly, she tried to reign in her temper, but the nerve he had struck was too raw.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll say her name as much as I like. Only one of us was her friend, Snape. You’ve proven that many times over, just look at your treatment of her son. And don’t think for one second I have forgotten Neville Longbottom’s boggart. I may be a monster, but I’d be careful casting curses in glass houses.” Snape advanced slowly until he was looming over her.<br/>
<br/>
“When they catch Black I’ll see that the dementors kiss you both.” He hissed. He whirled away and left her standing alone and shaking with rage. She turned back to her desk and angrily swiped at a glass of water sitting on top of it. The glass flew across the room and shattered against the wall. This did not make her feel any better, but it did create a fantastic mess. She sighed and waved her wand to reform the shards and dry the water. She shouldn’t have let him rile her so. It was a pointless, childish feud, considering they were supposed to be on the same side, now. But it seemed there were some grievances just too bitter and deep seated to let go, on both their parts. And the guilt in her mind had stoked her anger. Was she helping Sirius, unknowingly, by keeping his animagus secret? Almost certainly. But she had come too far down the road of secrecy and she was too ashamed to admit it now. It was a very fine line she had chosen to walk. She flopped back down into the chair and picked up the essay again. Morgana tried to focus, but there were just too many other things to think about. She had assigned only three rolls of parchment but, the student had taken it upon themself to turn in seven. Without bothering to finish reading, Morgana grabbed her quill and marked it with top marks. She had no qualms about the grade, the essay was, after all, Hermione Granger’s.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Things were much harder, when you had a human mind. There was so much less that Sirius was willing to accept than Padfoot. It seemed to suit Padfoot just fine, to sleep on the cold ground and to scrounge through people’s trash for scraps, fur filthy and matted. Padfoot the dog had no problem accepting this. But Sirius the human was beginning to balk. <em>They’ve reduced you to an animal</em> his mind would whisper, when he would catch sight of his soiled robes and grimy hands, nails like claws caked with dirt. The humiliation and indignity would press in and threaten to stifle what little will he had left. It was only his smoldering hatred of Peter Pettigrew that kept human Sirius silent while Padfoot dug through rotting refuse heaps. And it was the cold, obsessive drive of revenge that kept him moving, sleeping in any dank hole he could find during the day, and running ragged through the night.<br/><br/>But his human self wasn’t just manifesting in shame. He was starting to get strange ideas. He could buy Harry a broom, he thought. But why? And how? He needed to get to Peter. What was the sense in the unnecessary risk? But he had been so careful, his caution was beginning to feel like a different sort of prison. He felt a reckless urge to tempt fate, just to see if he could get away with it. This wasn’t a Padfoot urge. Reckless. Was that something they had used to called him, before? It felt familiar. He couldn’t stop thinking of a tiny flat on Beauchamp Street, where he had used to stay, with her. It didn’t make sense that she would still be there, not after all these years. Not after what he had done. He needed to get to Hogwarts before the dementors caught him. What possible purpose could it serve to see a flat empty of her? But almost involuntarily he had turned south anyway, miles off course. He had just wanted to see it. For what? To burn it down? He didn’t want to remember her. It hurt too much. Or did he? Had being human always been this complicated? This full of contradiction? When he had gotten to the flat, he had chanced capture just to peer into the window. He had seen a horrifying wraith, with a gaunt face and eye sockets so sunken they seemed pits. He had nearly toppled over backwards in shock, before realizing with dull dismay it was only his own reflection. He was glad she hadn’t been there.<br/><br/>He was also starting to want things. Not just revenge anymore, but other things. Mundane things. He might be able to murder, just for a hot shower. Hell, even for a cold shower. Or even just for a new robe. He had thought to steal one once. But the idea of touching the freshly laundered linens with his disgusting hands was somehow even more revolting to him than to continue to wear his own rags. And he was starting to want other things as well. More dangerous things. He wanted to know how like his father Harry actually was. He wanted to use a fork, just to remember how people ate. He wanted to clear his name and to tell everyone he was sorry. He wanted to hear someone say to him it wasn’t his fault. And more than anything, he wanted to see her face. <em>Just once</em>, his mind would whisper insidiously. <em>Just so the last image in my mind won’t be Peter, but her</em>.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Morgana!” Morgana was dreaming. It was dark and somewhere a wolf was howling. Fenrir Greyback was before her and he was laughing. Laughing that raspy, maniacal laugh that always made her want to grab him by the neck to choke off the sound. He turned to her and said in a high, anxious voice, “Morgana!” A high voice? That seemed strange. “Morgana!” Morgana woke with a start. She wasn’t in the dark anymore; there was a candle flickering in front of her eyes illuminating the tiny face of Professor Flitwick. “Quick, my dear! There’s been an attack! Sirius Black is loose in the castle!” Adrenaline coursed through Morgana. She hurried out of bed and swung on her robes directly over her frayed pajamas. “I’ll take the northeast corridors, you take—” Morgana grabbed Professor Flitwick by the arm.<br/><br/>“No, I’ll take the northeast corridors.” The northeast corridors were a section of the school closest to Gryffindor Tower. It also happened to be the section with the most secret passages leading outside of the castle. Morgana had spent almost as much time in those secret passages as she had in class. No one else knew them better. Well, except maybe, Sirius Black. Professor Flitwick didn’t pause for a second. He nodded immediately.<br/><br/>“Then go. Be safe! The Ministry is allowing whatever force necessary. Black must be stopped.” No suspicion, no concern about her loyalties. Morgana loved him for that. She didn’t waste time with any more words and rushed off.<br/><br/>“<em>Homenum Revelio</em>,” she said softly, slowing when she finally reached the first corridor. There was a soft woosh, but the spell revealed no one. Still, she crept forward with caution. It was dimly lit, and every shadow seemed to conceal someone lurking. Her pounding heart was near deafening. “<em>Illuminato</em>,” and the candles lining the walls flared brightly. She steeled herself and strode quickly towards the next corridor. If Sirius had hurt anyone… their blood would be on her hands. She swallowed down her terror and continued her methodical search. Every corridor was the same, revelio revealed no one and there was no sign that anyone had passed, but with each empty corridor her tension only mounted. She finally reached the last hallway, where there stood the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. With shaking hands, she ran her fingers along the base, until they caught the trick latch and the statue swung forward to expose a secret passageway. She hunted as diligently as she could, but there was no evidence to confirm or deny that Sirius Black had passed. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed.<br/><br/>Rather than reporting immediately to the Great Hall, Morgana retraced her steps and reexamined everything. Her guilt made her hypervigilant; she might be keeping secret the truth of his ability, but on no other account would she allow any thing else that might facilitate Black to escape her notice. When she was finally convinced that she had missed nothing, she headed downstairs where all the students were already gathered. She spotted Dumbledore and Snape at the far end of the Hall and navigated her way through the maze of sleeping bags littering the floor. Snape was whispering furtively in the headmaster’s ear, stopping only when Morgana was within earshot.<br/><br/>“Anything?” Dumbledore asked. Morgana shook her head. Beside him, Snape was sneering at her. <em>Fuck you, you traitor piece of shit</em>, Morgana thought. But whether she meant Snape or herself, she wasn’t really sure.<br/><br/>“Was anyone hurt?”<br/><br/>“Black made it all the way to Gryffindor Tower, where he was stopped at the entrance to the common room by the Fat Lady. He slashed at her with a knife when she wouldn’t admit him. But everyone else is whole and accounted for.” Unbidden, Morgana’s mind conjured the image of Sirius that had run in the Prophet. The picture of madness, eyes unfocused, filled with senseless rage, railing and screaming against the edges of the frame. That was the true face of the man she had loved. She shuddered. There was something so disturbing in his choice of weapon. Was he so insane that he could no longer wield a wand?<br/><br/>“Harry?” She asked. Dumbledore gestured to a sleeping bag off to the right. “Would it not be better to tell him?” The irony of her question tasted of acid.<br/><br/>“I think not. Let the boy have some peace.” Dumbledore turned to her again and fixed her with his piercing stare. “Any insight into how Black could have gained entry?”<br/><br/>“No,” she said, hating herself. If ever there was a time to tell Dumbledore it was now. Her feeble excuse that she would be present to stop Sirius before anything happened had been shredded as easily as the canvas of the Fat Lady. He had made it all the way to Gryffindor Tower and back out of the castle unscathed while she slept through the whole thing. But the words simply wouldn’t come. What was it inside of her, preventing her from telling the truth? Snape is right about me, she thought, bitterly. But even this was not enough to shame her into speaking. Dumbledore’s eyes lingered on her a beat too long, but eventually, he nodded.<br/><br/>“We’ll set up a patrol. Severus, take the dungeons, Morgana third floor.” He nodded at them again and strode off, leaving her alone with Snape.<br/><br/>“Time is running out for Black, which means for you as well,” he hissed at her. Morgana grabbed his arm before he could swoop away.<br/><br/>“Listen,” she said, low and urgent. “I am not helping Sirius Black. Which means that he found his way into the castle <em>on his own</em>.” She let him sit with that for a moment. “You don’t have to trust me, but the more attention you waste spying on me, the less you’re spending on figuring out how to stop him from doing it again.” Her next words were sour on her lips. But if she couldn’t bring herself to tell Dumbledore, this was the next best thing. One of the few things she could always trust in was Severus Snape’s hatred of Sirius Black. “I’m sorry for what I said to you about Lily. But this isn’t about us. Not anymore. You think you are the only one who lost when Lily died? Sirius took everything from me. I want him gone just as much as you. We have to stop him. We must keep Harry safe. For her.” She waited, but Snape’s face was unreadable. He jerked his arm away and walked out of the Great Hall.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sirius’s tenuous grasp on sanity had slipped. He hadn’t been ready for what he would feel at Hogwarts. The cloying familiarity of it all. It hit him like an anvil, dragging him down, clawing, into the depths of lunacy. The memories were resurfacing in crashing waves, leaving him laughing, crying, jabbering away to invisible phantoms. He might have been able to recover, if, in the midst of this assault, Padfoot hadn’t caught it. The scent of something not quite human. Of her. Morgana, his reeling mind at last supplied, and suddenly, it was like he was experiencing two different realities at once. He was sixteen, sitting by the lake, laughing, bright and easy. He could feel the weight of her, leaning against him, shifting with his every move. At the same time, he was a wraith, wasting and rotting inside his dank hideaway, the moist smell of decay just as real as the sunlight of memory. Which reality was true? Surely not the one where everyone was lost to him? If the madness of memory could be this real, what was the point in clinging so hard to the present? He could just lose himself in the past, drowning in remembrance. It was sweeter there than here. She was real to him now. Every tick, every expression, the different shades of her voice. He realized now that he had never forgotten her; and it had only been the base instinct of self-preservation that had kept her memory at bay. He could just lie down, close his eyes, and float away, thinking of her.<br/><br/>But, no. He couldn’t let go. He couldn’t lose himself in the past. He didn’t deserve to. It was his own actions that had led to this reality, this world without James and Lily, and as wretched as his miserable existence was, it was not near enough penance for his mistakes.<br/><br/>He wasn’t sure how much time he had lost, raving away, but when he finally regained some semblance of sense, he was covered in dust and blood and there was a deep gash in the palm of his right hand. He looked around his cave and spotted the likely culprit, a jagged, long blade that lay in the back corner. It should have been disturbing, to come to, cut and bloody with a discarded knife and no memory of what happened, but for Sirius, it barely registered as an oddity. Had he killed Peter? He didn’t think so. Had he killed someone else? No. He was sure the blood was from his own hand. Had he been to the castle? Maybe? It was frustrating to think he may have lost an opportunity at Peter or that he had gained nothing, not even information, from his nighttime jaunt. But wait. That wasn’t entirely true. He had gained something. A knife. And while it wasn’t a wand, it certainly was plenty big enough to kill a rat. Sirius laughed aloud to himself, alone in the dark.<br/><br/>He spent the entire next day motionless, thinking. There were 7 passages into the school. Filch knew of three, he was certain, but she knew them all. She also knew about Padfoot. This was a complication he hadn’t planned for. As much as he was capable of planning, anymore, anyway. But Sirius had been roaming the countryside as Padfoot in both Muggle and wizarding enclaves and no one had stopped him yet. Did that mean she hadn’t told anyone about him? What significance did that hold? Why would she keep the secret? Why should she even be here now, at the end of everything? It was all too much to consider. He grabbed his knife. He would think about it later. He had other things to take care of.<br/><br/>He settled on the path that led from the entrance of Honeydukes. It was by far the least secret of all the passages, but it was for precisely this reason that he chose it. No one --she, his mind whispered¬-- would notice a few extra footprints. He hadn’t thought much farther ahead than that, but he trusted that he could figure out what to do once he got inside. Self-assured, he thought randomly. Yes, they had said that about him too, in the past, and never as a compliment. Sirius crept through the passage and climbed spiderlike from behind the statue of the one-eyed witch. He moved silently, clutching his knife to his chest. He was just wondering if he even remembered the way to Gryffindor Tower and was utterly discomfited to realize he was already standing in front of the portrait hole.<br/><br/>“You there! You scallywag ruffian! What manner of creature are you! Halt! Put forth the word of passage or begone!” Sirius blinked. The painting covering the portrait hole was not the Fat Lady at all. Had there ever been a Fat Lady? Now he wasn’t sure. “Do you know the password?” The knight in the painting was charging back and forth from the edges of the frame.<br/><br/>“Um…” Sirius croaked. He glanced down and his eye caught a tiny scrap of parchment. With trembling fingers he brought the paper up to his eyes. If Sirius hadn’t already been sure that he had completely lost his mind, he was certain of it now. This was all some strange dream, a nightmare hallucination. He was locked in his cell in Azkaban wasting away and the dementors had finally broken him. Because there was no way, no absolute fucking way, he had just picked up a list of passwords to the Gryffindor common room from right up off the ground. As if to cement this absurdity, from somewhere down the corridor there came a loud meow. “Good evening… good sir.” Sirius tried out. The knight paused mid charge and peered at him suspiciously. Sirius decided to lean into the crazy. “I believe I do have the word of passage,” and then, because he didn’t know when he would ever get a chance to say it ever again, “I’m Sirius Black.” It felt so good to speak aloud to someone else, even if it was only a deranged painting. How long had it been since he had last held a conversation with someone other than himself? A year? A decade? Longer?<br/><br/>“Go on, then!” The knight shouted. “What’s the password? And if you’re wrong, I’ll skewer you right through!”<br/><br/>“I believe the first one is…” Sirius squinted, “fibbobreloo?”<br/><br/>“Oh! Why, sir! You look a wretch but you’ve a noble heart! That is indeed the first password. But security is tight these days, have you the second?”<br/><br/>Sirius smiled crookedly, and if anyone could have seen him in that moment, they would have been forcefully reminded of the man he used to be. “Why, yes, I believe I do. And the third and even the fourth.” And he proceeded to rattle them off with aplomb.<br/><br/>“Goodbye, Sirius Black! Farewell! I have enjoyed our time together! Go forth and be brave!” The knight was still yammering on, even as he swung open to admit Sirius into the common room. Sirius was absurdly touched. It was probably the last kind thing he would hear before the dementors kissed his soul away. He paused a moment to take in the common room. It was remarkable how little it had changed. His throat constricted when he spotted a substantial burn mark in the carpet by the fireplace. James had taken it upon himself in the third year to fill all three of their book bags with salamanders. The incident had ended in fire and disaster and multiple burns for all involved, but they had laughed about it for years. Sirius swallowed. Normally everything was so hazy, but here, at Hogwarts, the memories were so sharp they cut with their clarity. He looked down at his hands and was startled to see the knife. He took a deep breath, tightened his grip, and turned with grim determination towards the boys dormitory.<br/><br/>He knew straight away which four-poster was Harry’s. The firebolt he had chanced and sent was leaning against the wall next to it. But Sirius barely spared Harry a thought. His business was with Peter. He chose the bed directly to the left of Harry’s. The boy sleeping inside was decidedly not a red-head, and he quietly closed the curtains. At this point, a more introspective man might have taken pause. Life had to have turned a dark way if you were creeping around in the dead of night in a dormitory full of sleeping thirteen-year-olds trying to commit a murder. But Sirius was not introspective, and he moved on to the next bed. And here, at long last, was the Weasley boy. Sirius drew a shaking breath and raised his knife. He scanned the bed for any sign of Peter. But there was none.<br/><br/>Sirius started to panic. Where was that damn rat? If he wasn’t here with the Weasley boy then he could be anywhere. And that meant that Sirius might never find him. This was utterly inconceivable. He hadn’t come all this way, suffered all this time, just to let that traitorous piece of shit escape him again. Forgetting to lower the knife, Sirius reached out and shook the boy awake. He had meant to do it gently, but like much of everything else, he had forgotten how to be and the boy’s head snapped back and forth. The boy sat up, took one look at Sirius and his knife looming over him, and immediately began shrieking. Sirius sighed. This would not do. It was time to make his escape and regroup. “Sorry,” he said hastily, though the boy most likely couldn’t hear it through his screaming. He backed quickly out the dormitory, transformed into Padfoot, and slipped out into the chilly corridor.<br/><br/>Sirius forced himself to pad along at a moderate pace. He knew if he started running the panic would envelope him and he would be caught for sure. But he couldn’t keep his mind from racing. Where could Peter have gone? How would he find him now? How could he have been so stupid and let it come to this? If only he could just think straight, but it was like the dementers had taken a giant whisk inside his brain and stirred everything around until nothing in his mind made sense anymore. <em>Damn Peter! Damn him!</em> He thought. <em>James, mate, I’m so sorry. I fucked it up again. Goddamnit</em>. Padfoot’s keen ears were beginning to pick up the sounds of the castle waking around him. He sped up a little, hugging the side of the corridors where the candle-light was dimmest. He could hear footsteps pounding towards him rapidly. One of those people approaching him now was almost surely her. Morgana. He could just end it all now. It would be the easiest thing in the world, to single her out from the din of footsteps. He could throw himself at her feet and confess everything and give himself up to whatever fate she decided from him. Would she believe him? No. It didn’t matter whether she did or not. It wasn’t up to her. She didn’t deserve to have the determination of his guilt or innocence foisted upon her. <em>You don’t even get to think her name</em>, he told himself, viciously. <em>You are already dead. You are nothing to her. You don’t get to think her name. Or James’s. Not until you finish what you started. Kill Peter</em>. But the mantra of ‘kill Peter’ was not the same calming balm as it had been for the past few months. Peter was not where he had hoped to find him, and it seemed that Sirius would have to wait even longer for vengeance still. <em>Kill Peter</em>. He thought again, anyway. <em>And then, maybe, maybe, you can begin to consider atonement</em>.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How’s it going, Neville?” Morgana asked. Neville Longbottom whipped around from where he had been sitting alone on the staircase to the owlery.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, Professor Lupin, hi.” He mumbled. “I was just heading back to the common room…” he trailed off dejectedly. Morgana sat down next to him on the step and gestured to the toad in his lap.<br/>
<br/>
“What’s his name?”<br/>
<br/>
“What? Oh, this is Trevor.” Morgana reached over and gently tugged on one of Trevor’s legs.<br/>
<br/>
“Nice to meet you, Trevor.” Neville stared at her like she was crazy. “It just occurred to me, I have a tank of hinkypunks that need to be fed some palm fronds in the dark arts classroom. Fancy helping me out?” Neville shook his head.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s okay, Professor. I know you just feel sorry for me. I think you’d be better off without my help.” He hung his head. “I really messed up the other day. I’m the one that couldn’t remember the passwords, so I had to write them down.”<br/>
<br/>
“Honestly? I think that one is on the headmaster” Morgana commented, wryly. Neville looked shocked. “Anyone with two brain cells could see that Sir Cadagon was off his rocker. I don’t know why he thought that painting would be a good fit to guard Gryffindor common room. It’s not your fault he changed the password four times a week.”<br/>
<br/>
“Sirius Black almost got Ron because of me.”<br/>
<br/>
“But he didn’t,” Morgana said, gently. <em>And that would have been my fault, not yours,</em> she added silently. “And as for Ron, I wouldn’t worry too much about him. I think he’s rather enjoying outshining Harry for once.” Neville smiled tentatively.<br/>
<br/>
“The knife does get longer every time Ron tells the story. And he really likes to tell it.” He said, shyly. Morgana laughed.<br/>
<br/>
“See. Don’t be so hard on yourself. We all make mistakes.” Neville nodded.<br/>
<br/>
“Professor?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes?”<br/>
<br/>
“Did you,” he was practically whispering. “Did you know my parents?” Morgana felt like she was falling.<br/>
<br/>
“Why do you ask?”<br/>
<br/>
“Just, something my grandmother said. I showed her the course list and she said that she knew you well and you were going to be a good teacher and I should learn all I could from you. I don’t know how else she could know you.” Morgana didn’t trust herself to speak. She took several steadying breaths before responding as calmly as she could.<br/>
<br/>
“I knew your parents really well. They were some of my best friends. Your father was a year ahead of me in school, but I shared a dorm with your mother.” Neville smiled, shy and sweet and Morgana felt like sobbing.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m glad they had a friend as nice as you.” He stood up. “Thanks, Professor. I feel a lot better.” He gave her a little wave. “See you,” he said, and headed down the staircase.<br/>
<br/>
When she was sure he was out of hearing, Morgana buried her face in her hands and cried. Everything at Hogwarts was so intertwined. The past, the present, there was no way to escape. Professor McGonagall had told her to let the dead go, but how could she? It was impossible when their spirits were walking and talking and feeling, embodied in the form of their children. How could she let go and move on when the tragedies of their lives were stamped so indelibly across the poor, sad, sweet face of Neville Longbottom.<br/>
<br/>
When she finally pulled herself together, she headed off back towards her office. But she only got halfway when she was distracted by Snape’s angry voice from the next corridor. She hurried over and was startled to see Snape waving an aged and folded piece of parchment in Harry’s face.<br/>
<br/>
“What’s going on?” Morgana interjected quickly, before Snape could start yelling again.<br/>
<br/>
“Here!” He said, shoving the parchment in her face. Morgana grabbed it and was floored for the second time that day. “It’s clearly some sort of dark artifact,” Snape was ranting. “What do you make of it?” She knew what it was without even having to read the childish insults emerging on the page. Peter always had the best hand-writing out of them all and she could recognize his script anywhere. She had stared at it often enough. Morgana forced herself to tear her eyes away from the parchment in her hands and look up at Snape.<br/>
<br/>
“I think its just a trick parchment,” she said, and was amazed at how calm her voice sounded. She barely knew what she was saying. At some point Ron Weasley had entered the conversation but everything sounded like a dull buzzing in her ears. Snape was staring at her suspiciously. She couldn’t focus on anything but the map. How had it come to be here? How had it fallen into<em> Harry</em>’s hands, of all people? Oh, she felt like throwing up. It was like this damn castle was one giant booby trap of the past, at every turn there was someone or some artifact to remind her of every detail of her sordid history.<br/>
<br/>
“Fine,” Snape snapped, and Morgana refocused on the conversation. “I have better things to do than waste my time with anymore of your lies.” He stomped away up the corridor.<br/>
<br/>
“Wow! Thanks, Professor, you really saved the day!” said Ron. “I thought Snape had us for sure.”<br/>
<br/>
“Professor Snape.” She snapped. Her heart was thudding and she found that she was in no mood to play cool teacher. “I’d like a word with Harry, if you wouldn’t mind, Ron.” Ron looked abashed.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, um, right, ok.” He mumbled. He shot Harry an apologetic look before wandering off.<br/>
<br/>
“Harry.” Her nerves were so keyed up it came out unnecessarily stern. “What are you doing?” Harry looked at her miserably.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m sorry, Professor, I just—”<br/>
<br/>
“This is a map!” She exclaimed, angrily. <em>Whoa, reel it in</em>, she told herself, <em>he doesn’t know the significance it holds</em>. “Harry,” she tried, again. <em>Stay calm, don’t take your damage out on the poor kid</em>. “There are a lot of people that are trying very hard to keep you safe. Please consider this before you do anything else--” <em>stupid</em> “--dangerous,” she caught herself. <em>Good, that was a semi-reasonable semi-coherent scolding. Now leave before you completely melt down in front of this child</em>. “I’m going to my office and I’m taking this with me.” She gestured with the map. “Goodbye.” She ended awkwardly and beat a hasty retreat back to her office. When she made it there, she slammed the door and let out a long, frustrated yell.<br/>
<br/>
“Ahhhhh,” came a scream from behind her. She whirled around in alarm, but it was only Neville again, sitting on the chair in the corner. “I’m sorry, Professor!” He sputtered. “I just thought maybe I would help you with the hinkypunks after all, but I’ll leave!”<br/>
<br/>
“No, no, I’m sorry,” Morgana said hastily, supremely embarrassed. She forced herself to set the map down on her desk and not look at it. “I just didn’t see you there. I read somewhere that yelling is good for the immune system, is all…” <em>What? What am I saying? Merlin</em>. Right at this moment, with the Marauder’s Map so near at hand and her emotions in upheaval, mentoring Neville was the last thing she felt like doing. But this is what she had signed up for, when she had agreed to become a teacher. She took a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re here, Neville. The fronds are in a basket in that closet over there, if you would be so kind as to grab them for me.” Neville nodded uncertainly and turned away. She could feel her fingers itching to unfold the map while Neville’s back was turned, but she managed to resist. “Let’s head over to the classroom then, shall we?”<br/>
<br/>
“Do you know about the Mariana Fire Flower?” Neville asked her. They had been feeding the hinkypunks for quite some time and he was finally beginning to loosen up.<br/>
<br/>
“No, what is it?” said Morgana, her mind faraway on the map. Could she find Sirius on it? Where had it come from? Sirius had lost the Marauder’s Map running from Filch in sixth year. Unless, that had been a lie, and he had had it all along? Was Sirius the one that had dropped it somewhere where Harry could find it? None of it made sense.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s this flower that only grows in the Andes. And it has a blue flame at its core that burns cold.” Morgana forced herself to focus on what Neville was saying.<br/>
<br/>
“That’s amazing, what keeps the flame lit?”<br/>
<br/>
“No one knows!” Neville’s face lit up. “But the only thing that eats them are dragons.” Morgana smiled. It was much better seeing Neville like this, excited about his interests. He’s not just some tragic reminder of the past, she admonished herself. He’s his own person. He was doing really quite well handling the hinkypunks when he wasn’t overthinking, and Morgana thought he would do much better if he just had a little confidence in himself. “My grandmother brought me back one from Peru when she went with her gobstones club. Would you like to see it sometime?” She nodded.<br/>
<br/>
“I’d love to see it.” Neville smiled back and they finished feeding the last of the fronds. “Thank you, Neville,” Morgana said when they had cleaned up. “You really were a big help.” And she sincerely meant it. Though it had seemed inconvenient timing when he had been in her office, she was actually feeling much better and much calmer, ready now to face the map waiting on her desk in a more rational manner.<br/>
<br/>
When he was gone, she poured herself a sizable drink and sat at last at her desk. Gingerly she unfolded the pages. “I solemnly—” her voiced cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” and the magic of the map unfurled the letters across the parchment. Even after all these years, it still took her breath away. It was truly a remarkable piece of magic and she took a moment to marvel at how skilled they had been, even as children. She realized with a jolt that they had been Harry’s exact age when they had made it. Unwanted memories of all the hours they had slaved away over it bubbled to the surface and Morgana’s heart ached. When had Sirius changed from that clever child? Had he been ruined from the beginning, the poison seed of hate already spreading in his heart even back then? It was pointless to wonder. She brought the map closer so she could scour the names. There was Neville, making his ponderous way back to Gryffindor Tower, and Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, together in the teacher’s lounge, and the usual trio of Harry, Ron and Hermione safely in the common room. She could see Snape in his dungeon office and the house elves down in the kitchens. Hundreds of names, but nowhere among them could she find one reading Sirius Black. Morgana let out the breath she had been holding. Of course, it could never have been that easy. “Mischief managed,” she said, automatically, and the map was blank once more.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a cat in Sirius’s cave. A very large, very ginger cat. He had woken up one morning with it curled against Padfoot’s side, purring. When he shifted back to himself, the cat only blinked at him sleepily. Sirius shrugged. It was no more bizarre than anything else that had happened since he had escaped Azkaban. He reached out a hand to stroke the fluffy fur. It was such a strangely comforting, warm feeling that Sirius nearly wept. He seemed always to careen wildly from one emotion to another these days. It seemed he was no longer able to temper his reactions. He suddenly felt very tired.<br/><br/>
The memories were coming back to him now, faster and faster and in crystalline focus. His problem now was that he was remembering too much. He knew there was no way his original memories had ever contained so much detail, but now that his mind was returning, he realized that the dementors had replayed every moment so often that actually he knew every single element of every single scene of his entire life. And they had left nothing untainted.<br/><br/>
He had made no progress towards finding Peter. He had taken to following the Weasley boy from the shadows every time he left the castle. Harry and his friends had been spending more time than usual down at Hagrid’s hut, but no matter how closely he spied, he could hear no clues as to where Peter may have gone. When the memories overpowered him and it became too difficult to focus, he returned to his cave and curled into a tight ball, tucking nose under tail, shivering and remembering until he could concentrate again. The days were slow, monotonous, and disheartening. He was always hungry.<br/><br/>
The ginger cat came to visit him often. Somewhere along the way he had gotten it into his mad head that it was the cat that stolen the passwords to Gryffindor Tower for him. He had taken to calling it Passwords. It was nice to have a friend. His only one.<br/><br/>
The more he remembered the more confused he became. Why had she behaved that way, that time in Bristol? He’d seen the memory a thousand times, and still it made no sense. What was he missing? Or conversely, why hadn’t he noticed, at the time, the way she always clenched her jaw before leaving, as though she was biting back her words? What had she meant to say? Why hadn’t she said it? Why hadn’t he noticed and asked? Why did he always react so stupidly? He had been so defensive about everything. Why hadn’t he just told her, every time every second how much he needed her? He saw a million different instances where he should have spoken up. What had he been so afraid of? Sometimes he would become so frustrated with his past self that he would yell into the empty cave. “Why are you like that?!”<br/><br/>
The memories of Peter were even crueler that the memories of her. It seemed so obvious, watching them again. How had he missed it? The way that damned rat’s watery eyes would dart between him and her and James. He always fiddled with his bottom most button when he was about to lie. His stupid nasal voice, he might as well have worn a sign around his neck ‘Traitor’. The first time Sirius remembered the scene when he had convinced James to choose Peter as secret keeper over him, he had been so overcome he had had to stumble outside and vomit in the bushes. Peter’s eyes had been practically gleeful. How had he been so blind? How had he missed it? It was worse than not remembering at all.<br/><br/>
There was one exciting day when he could hear the Weasley boy shouting with the brown-haired girl. They were arguing. They were arguing about Peter! The Weasley boy was accusing the brown-haired girl of allowing her cat to kill Peter. Sirius looked, startled, over at Passwords. “Are you her cat? Did you kill Peter?” He asked, but Passwords only purred at him in a smug, self-satisfied way.<br/><br/>
He decided that it was time for a wand. He went into Hogsmeade armed with an elaborate plan. But in the end, he simply waited until he saw a wizard walking alone, came melting out of the shadows and knocked him down and pelted away with the wand clutched between his teeth. He wondered why he hadn’t thought to do that earlier. He spelled his rag of a robe clean. It was the nicest he had felt in 12 years.<br/><br/>
The days wore on, but still, there was no sign of Peter.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morgana rubbed her temples and tried to focus on the tiny dots on the map. Her head was pounding, her stomach churning. Where was Snape with that damn potion? The moon wasn’t for hours yet, but the earlier she drank the Wolfsbane the easier her time would be. She hated looking at the map. She hadn’t pulled it out once since the first night it fell into her possession. But tonight was the trial for Hagrid’s hippogriff Buckbeak and Morgana knew, in spite of repeated warnings, that Harry and his friends would be down at Hagrid’s hut. And she wasn’t wrong. She cursed her luck that the trial just had to coincide with the full moon. She would watch them as long as she was able. Which would be a lot easier if Snape would just show already with the potion. But experience told her that Snape would only ever provide the barest minimum of help that he could get by with. She sighed and chewed some mandrake extract to take the edge off her headache.<br/><br/>The dots for Harry, Ron, and Hermione had reached Hagrid’s hut. They had been bunched nearly directly on top of one another on the map. That must mean they had been huddled together under James’s invisibility cloak. Harry’s invisibility cloak, she corrected with a familiar twinge of pain. At least they had been somewhat smart in their disobedience. The three tiny dots entered Hagrid’s hut and Morgana allowed herself to look away for a bit; they were safe for the moment. The trial was scheduled for an hour from now, they would stay put there at least until then.<br/><br/>There had been no more reports of any more nighttime prowls by Sirius Black. And while that should have been a relief, it was disconcerting to wonder what he might be planning or doing instead. Dumbledore had been wrong in his motive for hiring her. She didn’t understand what Sirius could possibly be thinking, not at all. His actions were that of a lunatic too far gone beyond reason. She wondered how, after everything he had done, that thought could still cause her pain. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught rapid movement from the map. The dots around Hagrid’s hut were darting around erratically. And then she saw it.<br/><br/><em>Peter Pettigrew.</em><br/><br/>Peter Pettigrew? But that didn’t make sense. The map didn’t lie; she knew better than anyone the strength of it’s magic. She had been the one to charm it, after all. But then, how could Peter possibly be alive? She had seen what was left of him first-hand after he had gone to confront Sirius. Just a finger, the rest blasted cruelly away… Unless… But Sirius had been hauled away for the murder, without even uttering a word in his own defense. By every account he had only laughed and laughed. Why would he do that unless he was guilty? But…he couldn’t be guilty of killing Peter, because Peter was alive. If Peter had been alive all this time, then why… Unless… unless… Her heart was seizing and she had to clutch the edge of her desk to keep from collapsing. <em>Oh Sirius, what have you done</em>?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a sickening snap. The Weasley boy had wrapped his leg around a root of the Whomping Willow in a desperate bid to save himself. As if that could ever stop Sirius now that he had Peter in his grasp at last. He yanked until the bone of the poor boy’s leg had cracked and dragged him down the into tunnel. The Weasley boy was screaming in Padfoot’s ears, but Sirius heard nothing. Peter was scratching and gnawing, leaving the boy’s hands in bloody tatters, but the boy was so terrified it only made him clutch the rat harder. <em>Good</em>, Sirius thought coldly. <em>Stay scared and don’t let that</em> <em>motherfucking rat escape again</em>. He tried as best he could to keep from biting down on the other leg too hard, but the more the boy struggled the deeper his teeth sank. It couldn’t be helped. He dragged and dragged until they were at last in the Shrieking Shack, and only when he was planted firmly in front of the only route of escape did he let go and allow the Weasley boy to scramble away from him. He transformed to human and the boy moaned.<br/><br/>He waited to see if Peter would have the spine to face him as himself. He should have known that he wouldn’t.<br/><br/>The moment was finally here. He would finally make Peter suffer for his betrayal. James and Lily had been the two best people Sirius had ever known and that bastard traitor had sold them out. For what? So he could live his life as a rat? It was so goddamn wrong. But he would pay. Here and now. Sirius thought that he would feel something. Some catharsis, some sense of justice. He felt nothing.<br/><br/>“Give me Peter.” He rasped at the boy. The boy only stared at him with terrified, bulging eyes. “He’s not a rat!” Sirius screamed. The boy clutched the rat tighter, hugging it to his chest. <em>I’ll make you pay</em> <em>for letting this poor boy love you as his pet, too</em>, Sirius thought, <em>I’ll make you pay for everything</em>.<br/><br/>Someone was coming down the tunnel. Harry. Of course. It seemed right that he should be here, too, at the end. Somehow, Sirius lost his new wand. He was too unfamiliar with the feeling of having one. It didn’t matter. Should he force Peter to transform to human before he killed him? Or just get it over with? Harry was shouting at him. He tried to focus.<br/><br/>“—killed my parents!!!!” <em>Ah</em>, thought Sirius. He nodded. He didn’t have time to waste on this, but he owed Harry as much of an explanation as he was capable of providing.<br/><br/>The children weren’t listening. They thought he was insane. He was, most like. But he was also right about Peter.<br/><br/>Someone else was coming into the shack.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morgana was already at the Great Hall before she even registered that she was running. She had never been so terrified in her life. Half formed thoughts were racing through her mind, faster even than her feet. They were in the Shrieking Shack, all of them. Harry and the children, Peter… and Sirius. She willed herself to run faster.<br/><br/>She was beginning to construct a new timeline of events.<br/><br/>The last time she had seen James, she had told him that for her mission to succeed, Sirius had to believe that she could be turned. It was starting to dawn on her that maybe she had succeeded, and he had believed. And then James and Lily had been murdered, and she had believed the betrayer to be him. But what if they had both been wrong? The realization was enough to force the air from her lungs. She ran on anyway, lightheaded and reeling.<br/><br/>The tunnel under the Whomping Willow was pitch black, but she knew the steps by heart, and finally she burst into the Shrieking Shack. On instinct, she knocked the wands out of the children’s hands with a quick wave of her own and caught them both in midair. <em>There goes my career as a teacher</em>, she thought, ludicrously. She felt the insane desire to laugh and thought immediately of Sirius, cackling over the blasted-out street while the aurors led him away. It made more sense now.<br/><br/>She could feel Sirius’s presence to her left, drawing her like a magnet, but she wasn’t ready for him just yet. She glanced instead to the corner where Ron was sprawled on the floor. Her breath caught. If there had been any shred out doubt before, it was gone now. The rat that Ron was clutching was plumper, and balder, but unmistakable. And yes, even through his squirming she could see it. The missing digit on its left forepaw. She could have screamed.<br/><br/>The children were all shouting at once, but she ignored them and turned to Sirius. She had seen his face in the paper, ruined by Azkaban, but what rocked her now was not how much it had changed but how familiar it was. He met her gaze and his eyes bored into her, despairing and hopeless, desperate and pleading, wrecked and wretched but not, <em>not</em> insane. She couldn’t stop herself. Two steps and she was across the room hauling him to his feet. His scrawny chest hitched against her as she held him close. “Is this real?” he whispered. Morgana didn’t even know how to begin to answer that. She squeezed him once instead, tight, and took a step back.<br/><br/>There was a third wand on the floor, which she figured must be Sirius’s. She bent down and handed it to him. It was a mistake. It had barely left her hand, before he was advancing on Ron. She grabbed his shoulder. Merlin, he was so thin. “Sirius, wait. We owe them an explanation.”<br/><br/>“I tried.” Sirius replied, his eyes never leaving Peter. “They won’t listen.” And he was right. Morgana did everything to reason and explain, but nothing they could say was getting through. She tried handing them their wands back, but this made them trust her no more than before. She couldn’t blame them; it sounded insane even to her own ears. It was then that they were interrupted by yet another person entering the shack. Faster than either her or Sirius, the children waved their wands nearly in unison and Severus Snape was blasted back and unconscious. “This is getting ridiculous.” Said Sirius, his tone so dry and matter-of-fact that this time a laugh did escape Morgana.<br/><br/>There was only one thing left to do. Ignoring Ron’s cries, she reached down and pried Peter from his grasp. It was disgusting. The way he twitched and warped. She couldn’t watch. She chose instead to look sideways at Sirius. He was staring at Peter with fervent intensity, barely blinking. Morgana could only wonder at what he must be feeling. She looked back at the trembling mass on the floor. In all honestly, there wasn’t much discernable difference between Peter the rat and Peter the human, except that he was larger. Peter was muttering and pleading, but Morgana didn’t care to listen. Peter had come back to life for all of five minutes before he was already dead again, in her mind. She stayed watching Sirius instead.<br/><br/>It was like someone had taken parts of him and put him together with a stranger in a weird Frankenstein patchwork. The way he stood was different. Gone was the easy confidence. His posture had always been straight and proud, but now he stood with shoulders rounded, like he was caving in on himself. But the way he held his wand was just the same, relaxed and dangerous. Who was he now? Peter was still jabbering away pathetically clawing first at her feet and then Harry’s. Morgana had seen enough.<br/><br/>“Shall we?” She asked Sirius. Sirius nodded without looking away from Peter. But before they could do anything else, Harry stepped in front of their wands and began making a case to spare Peter’s life. Morgana was at a complete loss. Peter Pettigrew was the reason James and Lily were dead, the reason Sirius had spent 12 years rotting away, the reason Harry himself was an orphan. And it wasn’t just that he had betrayed, but he that had let the world continue to love him and mourn him long after. She had wasted years of her life falling apart with guilt over loving Sirius, all the while mourning this vile, pathetic, beast of a human. Was she just going to let him get away with life after all that? Could she? Could Sirius? She doubted it. Peter wouldn’t be the first person she had killed; there had been a few, during the war. But he would be the first murder. She couldn’t think of anyone who deserved it more.<br/><br/>And then, to her infinite surprise in a night more than chock full of them, Sirius lowered his wand. Morgana’s heart stuttered. So he <em>was</em> still in there. He turned to her, sad and drained, and shrugged. Morgana sighed, but nodded, and lowered her own wand. Sirius backed away until he was as far back as he could go, face hidden in shadows. Morgana trussed Peter up instead, attended to both Ron and Snape, and finally turned back to Sirius. He was still lurking in the corner.<br/><br/>“How does it feel?” She asked him. “To almost be free?” He didn’t answer. Morgana followed his gaze across the room over to Harry. “You could talk to him, you know.” He didn’t respond for a long time.<br/><br/>“To say what?” He asked finally. He sounded so confused, and Morgana realized the question wasn’t rhetorical. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.<br/><br/>“Honestly? I have no idea. Anything you want.”<br/><br/>“Morgana?”<br/><br/>“Yes?”<br/><br/>“Nothing.” A pause, “I just wanted to say your name.”<br/><br/>“Okay,” she said, mildly. She made to pat him on the arm but couldn’t quite manage it. She settled for tugging lightly at the sleeve of his tattered robe instead. “Let’s go.”<br/><br/>They made a strange group, lumbering slowly back up the tunnel, chained together to keep Peter from escaping. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and Morgana was exhausted. She felt awful. She stumbled out of the tunnel entrance and into the clear night—and felt her insides plunge into in icy pit. The night was clear because the moon was full. How could she have possibly forgotten? She looked around frantically but only Sirius had noticed. He was staring at her in dawning horror. There was an excruciating wrench as her bones began to stretch and she screamed and pitched forward, dragging Peter and Ron down with her.<br/><br/>“Morgana!” Sirius darted forward and caught her before she hit the ground.<br/><br/>“Oh no no no,” she moaned. He grabbed her face in his hands.<br/><br/>“What can I do?” He asked desperately. But she shook her head.<br/><br/>“Run.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sirius woke in a rounded room with floor and walls made of cold, dank stone. He jolted upright. Where was he? There was only a solid oak door and a tiny window. He stood gingerly, bypassed the door and peered out the window. Below him the grounds of Hogwarts sprawled, the lake glistening with reflected moonlight and the forest a dark sea of shadows. Sirius sat back down and closed his eyes. So this is how it would end. He had failed miserably. He hadn’t killed Peter. He had gotten his last look at Morgana, but even that had been ruined. She had been collapsed on the ground writhing in agony and the image was seared in his mind, supplanting everything else. It was exactly the last way he wanted to remember her. He hoped she was alright, alone in the forest. The one bright spot was that Harry knew the truth now. But what good was that if he wasn’t around to fulfill his duty to him. Had Harry escaped the dementors? He must have, considering Sirius himself was still alive. He supposed he would never find out though, now. “I’m so sorry, James.”<br/><br/>
The door swung open. Light flooded in from the corridor and the unmistakable profile of Albus Dumbledore was backlit in the doorway. Sirius didn’t bat an eye. Dumbledore strode into the rounded room and groaned as he took a seat on the floor next to Sirius. “I should have thought to bring a chair,” he said, jovially, “I’m not so young as to sit willy-nilly on hard, stone floors anymore.” So he said, but to Sirius, Dumbledore looked exactly as he had the last time he had seen him, more than a decade ago. “So, Mr. Black? Anything you care to explain?” He fixed Sirius with his signature stare, but Sirius was beyond its power anymore. What did it matter, what Dumbledore thought? Sirius hoped the dementors would come soon. He was very, very tired. “I have been honestly and truly shocked only a handful of times in my many, many years, and I’m sure you will be pleased to hear that several of those times happened to me this very evening.” He waited.<br/><br/>
“Harry?” Sirius asked at last.<br/><br/>
“Is recovering in the hospital wing, as are his friends.” Sirius let out the breath he hadn’t been aware he had been holding. “Sirius,” Dumbledore began in a softer tone. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth, when I came to see you in Azkaban that first time? I could have tried to help you.” Sirius hung his head.<br/><br/>
“Because I am guilty of murder.”<br/><br/>
“There are three very trustworthy students in the hospital wing that swear up and down that you are not.” Sirius finally looked Dumbledore dead in the eye.<br/><br/>
“Of James and Lily.”<br/><br/>
“Ah,” said Dumbledore. He sounded infinitely sad. “I see. You made a decision that you felt was in the best interest of the people you loved. Just because it was the wrong one, doesn’t make you a murderer.” There was an uncomfortable knowing in the way Dumbledore was staring at him now, and Sirius dropped his gaze once more.  “You couldn’t have known that Peter Pettigrew was the spy anymore that Morgana could have known that you weren’t.”<br/><br/>
“I could have trusted her.” Dumbledore sighed.<br/><br/>
“There were a great many things we all could have done. Often, we hurt the ones we love the most, without meaning to, because we trust they know how much we love them. You could have trusted her more, and she could have been kinder with your heart and James and Lily could have chosen anyone else to be their secret keeper. And Peter Pettigrew could have been stronger. Everything is not always on you, Sirius.” Sirius let out a shuddering breath. “Cornelius Fudge is coming here to speak with you. Will you tell the truth of your innocence, this time?” Sirius remained silent. “For an escaped convict you have a great deal of people who care for you very deeply. I’d hate to have to tell Professor Lupin that she lost her job and you, when she wakes up tomorrow.”<br/><br/>
“You’re sacking her?” Sirius asked, surprised despite himself.<br/><br/>
“I wouldn’t dream of it. But Severus, in a fit of pique, may have let slip her condition to some rather influential parents.”<br/><br/>
“Already?! That slimy asshole git!” Dumbledore smiled and clapped him on the back.<br/><br/>
“There’s the Sirius Black I remember.” He climbed laboriously back to his feet. “Tell the Minister the truth, Sirius. I will back you 100%.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morgana opened her eyes slowly. Her cheeks were damp. Had she been crying? She was lying in a four-poster in the hospital wing. She scoffed to herself. It all felt very full circle. Slowly, and very, very carefully, she sat up. The world spun around her and she froze until things swam back into focus. On the bedside table was a tiny yellow flower, with a blue flame at its center. “Mariana Fire Flower,” she said to no one. Moving in increments, at a snail’s pace, Morgana eased herself out of the four-poster. She leaned a hand against the wall to support her weight as she inched out past the curtain. Madame Pomfrey spotted her immediately.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, no! You mustn’t be out of bed,” she rushed over and took Morgana by the arm and steered her into the nearest chair. “Honestly!”<br/>
<br/>
“I need to know what happened last night.” Madame Pomfrey bit her lip.<br/>
<br/>
“More like what happened three nights ago,” she replied.<br/>
<br/>
“Three nights?!” Morgana made to stand up again and Madame Pomfrey wrestled her back into the chair.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re not well yet!” She grunted. Morgana forced down her panic.<br/>
<br/>
“Fine, fine,” she held her hands up in surrender, “I will return to bed if you will please send for the headmaster.” She began her tortuous way back. Madame Pomfrey made to help but she waved her away, the faster she fetched Dumbledore the better. What had happened that night? She remembered up until she had fallen, staring into Sirius’s haggard, skeletal face awash in panic and moonlight. But after that, everything was a blur. Had the children gotten away from her in time? Had they arrested Peter Pettigrew? And Sirius? What of Sirius? She hoped his absence wasn’t telling. She had only just gotten him back; the idea that she might have lost him again so soon was unimaginable. Her heart was thudding so painfully she wondered that her ribs didn’t just shatter right there. She buried her face in her hands and waited. It seemed several lifetimes before Dumbledore finally appeared at her bedside. Morgana shifted to try and sit up again and Dumbledore hurried over to readjust the pillows behind her.<br/>
<br/>
“How are you feeling?” he asked, peering with concern into her face. Morgana waved her hand.<br/>
<br/>
“Forget about that, tell me what happened?”<br/>
<br/>
“I learned of a great many secrets that you’ve been keeping from me.” Morgana was far too anxious to be ashamed.<br/>
<br/>
“Is everyone ok? What of—” she paused for the barest fraction of a second, “Sirius Black?”<br/>
<br/>
“Mr. Black and I had a very illuminating conversation in his room in the North Tower. Thanks to the academic commitment of Hermione Granger, more than one life was saved. And it seems that even James made an appearance, that night.” Morgana stared at him.<br/>
<br/>
“Professor,” she said slowly, “I would like to kindly ask you, to please explain what the fuck you are going on about.” Dumbledore gave a wry chuckle. He pulled a letter out of his pocket.<br/>
<br/>
“I think it’s best to hear it from Sirius. I’ve never been as skillfully loquacious as he is.” Morgana’s mouth was dry. She took the letter with trembling fingers. “I’ll check in again, in a little while.” Morgana nodded, and Dumbledore was gone.</p>
<p>
  <em>M,</em><br/>
<em>Riding a hippogriff is nothing like riding a motorbike. Maybe this seems a non sequitur to you, I don’t know how much you’ve been told. I suppose I should start at the beginning. I was born September 7th… just joking. I hope you’re smiling, maybe? Or at the very least, rolling your eyes at how very like me this all is.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Bear with me, I have a hard time thinking linearly these days.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Hermione Granger is the smartest child I have ever met, and yes, that includes you. She’s been using a time turner to overload her class schedule and repeat hours in the day. Even you were never quite so daft. I guess, somewhere in the universe, there is a timeline where she and Harry didn’t get to me in time and the dementors kissed me out of existence.</em>
</p>
<p>Morgana’s heart gave a painful wrench.</p>
<p>
  <em>That thought chills me on occasion, but most of the time I find it strangely comforting. Imagine, giving a thirteen-year old power over time just to study. And people say that I am insane.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>She turned the time back and some things happened and she and Harry saved Hagrid’s hippogriff. And also me. Peter got away.</em>
</p>
<p>‘Some things happened’? She was desperate for information and that was the best he could do? Morgana shook her head. Then, she realized that she was doing exactly what he had expected of her, rolling her eyes at ‘how very like him it all was’. He still knew her so well, even after all this time. It was painful and frightening and exhilarating, all at once. She still didn’t understand at all what had happened, but Sirius was safe. She took a steadying breath and turned back to the letter.</p>
<p>
  <em>They shouldn’t have bothered with me and went back and made sure you had your potion instead. I’m so sorry, Morgana. I’m always so caught up in my own drama. I never change.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>The dementors surrounded Harry and me on the bank of the lake and I thought we were lost for sure. But Harry stopped them. Lily and James’s son. He stopped an army of dementors and stole a hippogriff, flew it up to the North Tower and busted me out through a window. James would be so proud. Harry saved me even after everything I have done. I don’t deserve it. I wonder, do you agree?</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I know I need to leave England, but I don’t know where to go. Would you see me? If I came?</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I’m very sorry about Ron and his rat. Murdering Peter is all well and good but trying to kill a kid’s pet is right fucked, even for me.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Anyway, I have so much more to say, but I don’t know how. Apologies for the handwriting, my hands are shaking and this is the first letter I’ve written in twelve years.</em>
</p>
<p>On that abrupt note the letter ended, and it was signed with a muddy paw print. Morgana flipped the parchment over to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. She didn’t know how to feel. Sirius had escaped, but so had Peter. Sirius was still wanted and Peter still free. Everything had changed, but really, when you came down to it, nothing had changed. And it was all her fault. How could she have been so careless? Was there really no way to clear Sirius’s name without Peter as living proof? She didn’t know. <em>‘Would you see me? If I came</em>?’ Morgana considered. Sirius hadn’t betrayed James and Lily, which had been the cardinal sin, but the truth was if he hadn’t mistrusted her, then maybe Peter would never have been chosen as secret keeper. But Sirius would never have mistrusted her in the first place, if she hadn’t led him to believe she could be mistrusted. And then again, if he had just waited for her after Voldemort had fell and hadn’t run off half-cocked after Peter, things might again have turn out very differently. It was all very convoluted and terrible. No matter which way you turned, they were both guilty of so many things, a tragedy in the truest sense. Did any of it even matter anymore? Sirius himself believed that he didn’t deserve to be saved. <em>‘Do you agree?</em>’ he’d asked. Morgana opened a drawer of the bedside table and rummaged around until she found quill and parchment. She hesitated and then began,</p>
<p>
  <em>S,</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I don’t agree.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I wouldn’t turn you away.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Not again.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Whatever you decide, please, please, please be very careful. You’ve only just come back to life, don’t waste it for me.</em><br/>
<em>M</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Morgana sealed her response before she could change her mind and waited for Dumbledore to return.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morgana still looked very haggard, when she opened the door to her tiny cottage, even though it had already been a week since the full moon. Even Padfoot’s dim eyes could see the lines of exhaustion in the way she braced one hand on the frame while swinging the door open with her other. She looked at him silently for a moment, and then stepped aside without a word. Padfoot slipped inside. He sat on his haunches on the mat by the door and watched as she walked to each of the windows and pulled the curtains closed. It took longer than necessary; she was avoiding looking at him. She was favoring her right leg, the left the slightest bit stiffer. Was that a hurt from the last moon, or before? He added that to the list of things he would ask her. When she could stall no longer, she finally turned to him. She smiled a small smile, half amused, half exasperated. A very recognizable smile. “Are you going to stay that way the whole time?” <em>No</em>, he thought,<em> but I need a minute</em>. He gave her a little wag of his tail. “By all means,” she said dryly when he hadn’t changed back, “take your time. It’s only been a decade.” But she smiled reassuringly after to soften her words.<br/>
<br/>
Morgana sat on the corner of the sofa furthest for him and tucked her legs up under herself. Sirius wasn’t sure if she had gotten better at keeping her face inscrutable, or if he had just gotten worse at reading expressions. Eventually, she reached out her hand to him, as though he were a real dog. He obligingly crept forward and nuzzled it with cold nose. She patted him tentatively on the head. “Just checking.” She whispered. He slunk back to his mat and sat again. She sighed and leaned her head back against the couch, so she was staring at the ceiling. How to begin? Sirius wondered. How to explain? That he was entombed in the past, a walking corpse reanimated only with regret and sorrow. He felt as though he were ensnared in one giant labyrinth. He could see her on the other side, but in between them lay a maze of anguish. He didn’t want to dredge up the past, to wound her with old slights and reopen old scars, but he could see no way else through. He thought she would look older, but if anything, in that moment she looked younger, uncertain and confused, unsure of herself and him.<br/>
<br/>
He changed back to human.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Right. Okay.” She got off the sofa. He followed her into the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
“Here, I’ll make you some tea. I’m out of milk but… there’s plenty of sugar. Do you want anything to eat?<br/>
<br/>
“Morgana.”<br/>
<br/>
“There’s not much, but I think I can muster a sandwich at lea—”<br/>
<br/>
“Morgana.” More insistent this time. Morgana was bent, rummaging around in the refrigerator. She straightened, without turning.<br/>
<br/>
“That night. The night that Regulus died. Why did you just leave like that? Why didn’t you say anything?” She turned, slowly, and tossed the pack of lunchmeat she had fished from out of the fridge onto the table.<br/>
<br/>
“So,” she sighed, heavily. “Just like that, then. We’re diving right into it?”<br/>
<br/>
“I have had 12 years to agonize over the things I should have said. We always left so much unspoken. It could have changed everything. I’m done with that. I’m saying it all now. All of it.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, fuck you, Sirius.” She said, bitterly. “You’ve had 12 years to ruminate on your mistakes? Well, I’ve had 12 years to try and bury mine. You don’t get to show up here and just dump all this shit on me.” Sirius shrugged, helplessly.<br/>
<br/>
“All this shit is the only thing I have left. I couldn’t have buried anything even if I tried. The dementors wouldn’t let me.” Morgana took a deep breath.<br/>
<br/>
“Just eat a damn sandwich, would you? Give me time to think.” He swallowed. He took a seat silently, and watched.<br/>
<br/>
“Here.” She had barely placed the plate in front of him when he snatched the sandwich up and began tearing into it like a man possessed, hardly stopping even to chew. A small rivulet of mayonnaise ran down his one of his fingers and he lapped at it like a dog. He glanced up, mid bite, and caught Morgana staring. It seemed to jar him back to his senses. He froze, and a dull flush crept high into his cheeks. The look of confused shame on his face hurt Morgana deeper than anything else about him had yet. They really had broken him in Azkaban. He took a shaky breath and set the half-eaten sandwich down. Morgana dragged the other chair from the opposite side of the table and placed it next to his, so close that when she sat, their legs brushed. “It’s ok,” she murmured. She reached over him to pick up the sandwich and placed it back in his hands. “I eat like that too, and I’m even not starving.” He didn’t even try to smile. He was right, she thought. They always left too much unsaid.<br/>
<br/>
“Morgana.” He whispered, setting the sandwich back down and turning towards her. And Merlin, she had forgotten how he had always looked at her like that, with such hunger.<br/>
<br/>
“Hush.” <em>I won’t cry</em>, she told herself fiercely, even as her eyes blurred. “I get it, okay. But I don’t want to rehash all that. There’s no point.” He nodded.<br/>
<br/>
“No point.” His voice, a bitter husk, scratchy from disuse. “This would all be so much easier if I had just died during the war.” Morgana reached out a tentative hand and brushed his hair back from his forehead gently. He shivered at the touch.<br/>
<br/>
“And who would Harry have to look out for him then?” She asked.<br/>
<br/>
“He’d have you.” He said softly. She felt a crashing sense of vertigo, as though she were falling backwards into herself. They were the same now, she thought suddenly. There were dark places in them both that just couldn’t be reached. Not by anyone.<br/>
<br/>
“And who would I have?”<br/>
<br/>
“Who do you have now?” He whispered, his lips murmuring against her skin as she stroked his face with her cupped hand. And it was all so familiar, the way his breath quickened, and the way her heart pounded and ached. And she recognized now the thing that she had known from the very first moment she had seen Peter Pettigrew’s name on the map. That she would just let go, let go and forgive him everything, because she always did, didn’t she? And because they were the same now. And it was enough, she thought vehemently, selfishly. It was enough just to have him here, safe, and alive. So what if he was returned to her bleeding and mangled, a shell of himself? It was still enough. She leaned closer, so her lips brushed against his.<br/>
<br/>
“Only you. Maybe a little older, but hardly wiser. Still a pain in my arse. Nearly getting himself kissed and escaping on a hippogriff. And of all the nights, on a full moon, no less.” This time Sirius did smile, small and sad. Morgana could still see the shadow of the dark place, the place that he could never let her into, clouding his features. But it didn’t matter, because it was enough, she thought again, before pressing her lips against his in earnest.<br/>
<br/>
He was shaking. She offered him the forgotten sandwich again, but he no longer seemed inclined to eat. She stood instead and began walking towards her tiny bedroom. “You can come with, if you want,” she said.<br/>
<br/>
“Where—” he mumbled. “I don’t—" But Morgana only held her hand out to him again, and he stumbled after her.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s okay.” Low, coaxingly, like speaking to a scared animal. “Sit with me.” Sirius was breathing hard. Without looking at her, he sat wordlessly on the bed. She turned toward him, shifting to bring one leg up next to her. “When was the last time you had a bed?” He made no answer. She examined him intently a long while before grabbing at the edge of his robe. “Take this off. I don’t have anything to replace it with, but I can mend it for you.”<br/>
<br/>
“What are you doing?” He whispered. Morgana moved closer and pulled the robe down off his shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s just your robe, Sirius.” Her fingers brushed against bare skin and he shivered again. He let her slip one bony arm out, and then the other. The robe slid soundlessly onto the bed. “I can count your ribs.” She reached out to do just that, but Sirius caught her hand.<br/>
<br/>
“What are you doing?” He asked, more firmly. “I’m not,” he swallowed, audibly. “I’m not okay. I need to know. I need you to be sure…”<br/>
<br/>
“Look me in the damn face and ask me that again.” But Sirius only shook his head.<br/>
<br/>
“Go easy, Moony. I don’t process very well, not anymore. And I was never very good to begin with.” He made a brave attempt at the ghost of a smile and Morgana softened.<br/>
<br/>
“Sirius.” There was an entire language, in the way she said his name. “I’m not prone to whims. That’s always been you.” He nodded.<br/>
<br/>
“Okay.” It sounded more like a question.<br/>
<br/>
“Okay.” She repeated. And suddenly, they were crashing together. His had his hands in her hair and taste of her on his tongue. And it didn’t matter anymore that he was dead inside because she was alive enough for both of them.<br/>
<br/>
“I love you,” he said, murmuring against her lips. But she couldn’t reply; he had already captured her mouth again with his.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morgana felt the sunlight streaming in and stirred. She turned, instinctively reaching out for Sirius, but found the space empty and the sheets cold. Her heart seized with an icy dread and she sat up quickly. “Sirius?” She said sharply. He was standing with his back to her, impossibly still and silhouetted against the window. “Come back to bed.” She’d intended it softly, but the drumbeat of her heart still pounded, and she had raised her voice harshly so it could be heard above the cacophony. There was the slightest of movements from the window, but otherwise he remained still. Morgana swung her legs free of the blankets and stood. Though only separated by a few feet, the room suddenly seemed an inexorable wasteland of tainted memories and unvoiced hurts, so vast and impossible to navigate that Morgana felt herself unable to cross to him. She waited, terrified and uncertain.<br/>“You deserve better than this.” His voice, unrecognizable, tinny, dull, dead. “Better than me.” Where the room had seemed an unfathomable distance just moments before, it seemed now too small, oppressive and stifling. <em>It’s too hot. It’s too hot and it’s too sunny</em>, her brain stuttered. The room seemed to echo with the ghosts of their past selves, stretched back across the years to the last time they had stood so close, yet so far, when he had doubted her and she had let him. <em>Bring him back</em>, her brain screamed. But Morgana was tired.<br/>“Who are you to tell me what I deserve?” She asked, instead, quietly. He remained still, implacable. And even though she hadn’t wanted to go back there, to that time before, she understood that he was still trapped in those past mistakes. “I was the one who gave Peter’s finger back to his mother. Did anyone ever tell you that? I asked Dumbledore myself, if I could be the one. It was in a gold box with scarlet trim, and I looked Peter’s mother in the eyes and I told her how I had lived with you, and loved you, and trusted you. And she pulled me close and we wept into each others arms and I have never hated myself more than I have in that moment. And then I went back to the flat—our flat, the flat that we had shared— I went back to that flat because I had nowhere else to go. I packed up all our things. And every thing I put away was another fiber of my being that was ripped apart until there was nothing left of the me that had shared that flat with you. And in the morning, I got dressed and went to James’ and Lily’s funeral. Alone. And the morning after that, I threw everything away. And every day after that, I have picked up the pieces of myself that had been shattered until I could finally tolerate my face in the mirror again. See, I don’t need you, Sirius. You are here because I want you here. With me. And I will let not let you deny me what I want because you think you know what I deserve.”<br/>Her voice had remained calm, low and steady but her hands were shaking, and she waited, breathless, for him to respond. He remained as still as ever, expressionless, lifeless. “You owe me this much.” She said it gently, but he recoiled as though she had slapped him. He finally turned toward her, anguished, despairing, drowning but alive, and finally, finally, here with her in the same space, within reach. Morgana let out the breath she had been holding, reached out her hand and pulled him to her even as she stepped towards him. He collapsed into her, rail thin yet still heavy, and Morgana pressed herself against him.<br/>“Okay, Moony.” He said in a cracked whisper and Morgana clutched him tighter still.<br/>“Now, come back to bed.” He nodded against her and whispered into her hair.<br/>“Okay, Moony.”</p><p> </p><p>Morgana woke again, hours later. She didn’t need to look for Sirius this time. He was pressed up against her, their bodies melded together, so close she could his feel his breath on her neck. She studied his face and transposed it over the one from her memory. Different, but same. She couldn’t resist running her fingers along his cheek, and he stirred as she traced his lips.<br/>“What are you doing,” he murmured. She ran her thumb over his lashes, and they brushed against it at as he opened his eyes.<br/>“You must be hungry. Let’s get some breakfast, shall we?”<br/>“Mmm,” he shifted against her, closer. “Or we could stay here.” His stomach growled. Morgana smiled and placed a kiss on his forehead.<br/>“Breakfast,” she said. She disentangled herself from him and headed toward the kitchen. She had finished making the eggs by the time he came in and he sat down silently at the table. She set a plate before him, and a steaming mug of coffee. “There’s still no milk…” She hovered uncertainly. “How is this suddenly awkward, now?” He smiled and pulled out the second chair.<br/>“Sit.” She sat. “Tell me about Harry.”<br/>“What would you like to know?” She prompted gently.<br/>“His patronus is a stag.” He sounded faraway. Morgana nodded.<br/>“I heard, from Dumbledore. He’s really not much like James, though. He’s too shy. He doesn’t like all the attention. He doesn’t really like breaking the rules, either, but he will, to do what he thinks is right. But you can still see James in him. He’s brave, and loyal, smart when he applies himself. Can be a bit oblivious, but so was his father. And you’ve seen for yourself the way he flies.” Sirius smiled at the memory.<br/>“And Lily?”<br/>“Her softness, and the way she would sometimes get melancholy. He has an intuitiveness to his magic that’s all her. He’ll do anything for his friends, and the way he does everything to protect the people he loves. And I think his temper, too.”<br/>“He looks…”<br/>“I know. It shocked me too.” She hesitated. “He hears them. When the dementors get near.” Sirius looked exhausted.<br/>“I was supposed to keep him safe.”<br/>“As was I. But you have a better excuse than me.” She brushed his cheek again. She couldn’t stop touching him, it was like she had to reassure herself he was real. “We’re here now, though.” He turned into her palm and kissed it lightly.<br/>“Moony?”<br/>“Yes, Pads?" The old nickname, sweet on her tongue.<br/>“Can I eat your eggs, too?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Moony.” She was thrashing around next him, her legs kicking away the sheets until they were bunched in a tangled knot at her waist. “Moony.” He said, more urgently. Sirius rolled onto one elbow and reached out a hand to shake her awake. She only turned away from him.<br/>“No.” She murmured. She tossed again. And then. “I’m so sorry. Please. I’m so sorry. I have to.” Sirius shook her again.<br/>“Moony. Wake up.” This time she jolted awake.<br/>“What,” she gasped hoarsely, grabbing his arm as she jerked upright. “What’s wrong?”<br/>“Nothing,” he said quickly, reaching up to stroke her hair away from her face. “You were dreaming, is all.”<br/>“Oh.” She dragged a hand across her face. “Fucking hell. You scared the bloody piss out me.”<br/>“Sorry.” He tugged her back down until she was nestled against him again. She sighed and buried her face into his neck. He ran his hand through her hair again, twisting a lock around his finger. He hesitated. “What were you dreaming about?” She stiffened the slightest bit; he never would have noticed if he hadn’t been waiting for it.<br/>“I don’t remember.” She said, after a long while. The feeling of being shut out was so achingly familiar, even after all these years, and suddenly, irrationally, Sirius was angry. He shifted away from her and sat up.<br/>“Haven’t we done this enough? We always do this. Love, after everything we’ve been through—what is there still left to hold back?” And just like that she was crying, not softly, but deep, wracking sobs, face buried in her hands. <em>Oh, you asshole, Sirius, you bloody fucking asshole, you never fucking learn</em>, he thought desperately, his anger fading just as quickly as it had appeared. He pulled her hands down away from her face and she looked at him, helplessly.<br/>“I’m trying,” she whispered, tears still coursing down her cheeks. “But it’s not that easy. It’s that thing you do, without even meaning to, where when you’re here, you just become fucking everything. But Sirius… you left me. You loved James enough to die for him, but you didn’t love me enough to just fucking wait for me.” This was so far from the truth, Sirius tried to protest, but she waved him away. “I know that isn’t fair, I fucking know, why do you think I didn’t want to say any of this to you. And I’m afraid that you’ll—I just need…” She shook her head. “I’m not like you, Sirius. I can’t just let myself be consumed by everything all the time. I need… to just leave some things to hold myself together with.” <em>There you go, you stupid twat piece of shit</em>, Sirius thought. <em>You got what you wanted, so stop it already</em>. “What are you thinking?” She asked him.<br/>“I’m thinking that I am a stupid twat piece of shit that never fucking knows when to quit.” Morgana let out a half sob half laugh.<br/>“That’s it?”<br/>“I just don’t want to make the same mistakes as last time.” She nodded.<br/>“I know, dear heart. But that means you, too. This time, this time you’re just going to have to trust that I love you.” They lay back down again, her face against his chest. After a while, she started crying again, softly this time. He tilted her face up to his, gently.<br/>“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Shhh. I’m so sorry,” he was murmuring against her cheek, kissing away the tears, not even sure of what he was saying.<br/>“It’s ok,” she whispered. “Hush, it’s ok. It’s just been a very long time since I have let myself feel.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Where will you go?” Morgana asked, watching as Sirius shrugged into his newly mended robe.<br/><br/>
“Somewhere hot and dry, most like. I’m very much done with cold and damp.”<br/>
<br/>
“Be careful.” Sirius glanced at her. But she couldn’t stand to look him in the face, not when he was leaving, and it was her fault. She stared down morosely at her hands and let her hair hang like a curtain, obscuring her face. It was the way she always hid. He reached over and pulled her up from the sofa onto her feet and Morgana had no choice but to look at him then. He was so battered, sucked dry and weighed down. Beat. Except for his eyes. They burned with something unfathomable, leaving her feeling weak and scorched. He ran his hands up and down her arms, barely touching her, like it was all the contact he could handle.<br/>
<br/>
“Not to worry, Moony, I was born to be fugitive.” The words were right, but the tone was wrong. Too much exhaustion and not enough cocky to sound anything much like his old self. Morgana was fine with that. She needed him cautious, not reckless.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m serious.” And since he wanted her to just say everything, now, she added. “Don’t hurt me again.” His face tightened. He hunched his shoulders, retreating back into himself. Morgana stepped closer, pulling him until she was crushed against him, and he tilted his head down to press his forehead against hers. She could feel his heart pounding through his thin shirt and even thinner chest, and Morgana knew that it was his heart that pumped life for them both. If something happened to him… There weren’t enough pieces of her left to put back together again. He pulled back and she could feel herself leeching away with him.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll be careful, Morgana. I promise. You know that I can’t stay, right?” She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. As if that could save her from unraveling.<br/>
<br/>
“My fault.” Sirius shook his head.<br/>
<br/>
“Stop. If I’m not allowed to, neither are you.” Morgana smiled thinly and watched as Sirius’s eyes roved over her face. It was like he was trying to memorize the details.<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t we make a wonderful pair. We could spawn a whole new branch of psychiatry with just our issues alone.” He didn’t smile back but only stared at her in that devouring way of his. It would take some getting used to, the way he sometimes just stood there paralyzed, like he couldn’t quite remember how to respond. Like he was rifling through the wreckage of his own mind, trying to find what he would have done, or said, or thought, before. She snaked her fingers into his and tugged his hand. “I’m only joking.” He nodded uncertainly. Without saying anything else, he took a step back and transformed into Padfoot. Morgana took a deep breath. She wished he had given her more warning, but she supposed it was the right move. There was no point in dragging this goodbye on endlessly. She turned and opened the door for him. He nuzzled his snout into her hand once as he passed her out the door. She stayed, braced in the doorway, and watched as he padded down the lane. She wondered if she would ever see him again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Hi,</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I can’t tell you where I am, obviously, but I can tell you Snuffles found a coconut cracked on the ground and it was a delicious treat! So now you know I am somewhere with coconuts and also a ground.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I need to ask you some things, Moony, about some of my memories. I know you don’t want to go back there… But I need to know. They itch in my mind and there’s no one else left to ask besides you.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>There’s a night where you, me, Lily, James, and rat went to a pub. There was music. It was loud. We were drunk. You and Lily went to the bar and a man hit on Lily. We played a muggle game with sticks and balls and I made you dance. We were tired from Order work. Rat passed out at the table. Was this a good memory? I don’t know anymore. Here is how I remember it:</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I came home. I was burnt out. Mad. There had been more bodies that day. You and Lily were on the couch, eating popcorn, talking. You were wearing my shirt. I interrupted what you two had been talking about. You weren’t happy to see me. Lily was going home. But I was restless. I wanted to go out. I forced her to get James. And made James get rat. We never went anywhere anymore. No one wanted to go out. We drank too much. The music was too loud. It pounded and reverberated in our bones. We couldn’t talk. You and Lily left to get more drinks, to drown out the misery. The man tried to talk to Lily. She was annoyed to be bothered. You were annoyed that she was bothered. No one wanted to keep drinking but we didn’t remember how else to have fun anymore. So we tried that table, with the balls and sticks. No one but Lily could get the balls into the pockets. I was a sore loser. I dragged you out to dance and you were angry. You hated dancing. You hated that everyone was looking. You only danced to humor me because I was drunk, and you didn’t want to cause a scene. We were so tired. Rat passed out and I gave up. We couldn’t unwind. We couldn’t lighten the mood. We went home. It was a waste of money and time. I was hungover.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Is…is that what happened? How it was? Or is that how they made me remember? I can’t separate it anymore.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I’m sorry to keep asking. I can’t sleep.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I love you.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Snuffles,</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>What a silly and accurate name you’ve given yourself. The bird that delivered your letter was beautiful. I’ve never seen anything so green. It wasn’t so fond of me, but then they never are.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Don’t apologize. I want to help.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>It was a good memory, darling.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Lily and I were so anxious we could have burst, waiting for you to come home. We had heard from Fabian Prewitt and knew it had been a hard day. I could see it on your face, how bad it had been. But you smiled. You were happy to see Lily there and I was happy to see you trying. You smoothed my hair and suggested we go out. It was a good idea. We hadn’t been out together in so long. Lily rushed away to get James and he managed to track down Peter. It was almost like old times.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>The conversation always ended up back on the war. But the music was too loud. We couldn’t talk. It made us laugh. We had no choice but to enjoy it instead. We were drunk because we were relaxing. For the first time in Merlin knows how long. Peter kept spilling his shots and you and James kept pounding the table in fake outrage.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Lily and I went to fetch more drinks. The man at the bar told Lily she was beautiful, and I told the man at the bar she didn’t speak English. She spoke to him in gibberish. The man was so confused. He ‘couldn’t place her accent’. It was so absurd and I couldn’t stop laughing.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>We came back and you had gotten it into your head to play billiards, but you didn’t understand the rules. Lily bet you seven galleons and you play fought with each other until she had won nearly 50 galleons off of you. I loved watching you together. It made me forget that our friends were dead and that we were fighting for our lives. You weren’t a sore loser. You laughed that way you sometimes did, with you head back like nothing in the world had ever been funnier.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>You dragged me onto the dance floor. I hated to dance, but I loved you and everyone was staring because you looked so good in those jeans. You had your hands everywhere. It was probably obscene, but I was so drunk and you felt so good I didn’t mind, for once. I didn’t want the night to end ever and we only stopped because Peter fell asleep. You and James carried him in between you, weaving and singing.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>It was the last good night we all had together. You are right about the hangover, though.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Are all your memories like this? Twisted? I’ll rewrite them all the right way, if you let me.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I miss you. Please be safe.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I love you,</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>M</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>M,</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Thank you. I wish I could remember it that way… Your memory sounds much nicer.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>You won’t have to miss me long. I received a disturbing letter from Harry about his scar and I am on my way back. In my mind, you look unhappy about this. I’ll be careful, I promise. But I can’t stay away. I’m not abandoning Harry again.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Actually, you look unhappy in all my memories. I wish I could remember you another way. Did you really forgive me? For that thing with Snape? I’m not sure anymore.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>S</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>S,</em><br/>
<em>What letter? What are you talking about? Is Harry okay? You’re coming here?! Are you crazy? Merlin, you won’t do Harry any good dead! How are you even going to help him? Please think carefully before doing anything stupid. God damnit, S.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I forgave you. And I forgive you. But I won’t forgive you if get captured, kissed and killed.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Be smart. Please.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>M</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>M,</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>You scold just the same as you used to. I wonder what you were like as a teacher. 2 more days.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>S</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sirius trotted up the lane with only Padfoot’s nose and starlight to guide him. He made his way to the tiny cottage and let out a soft woof. The door flew open immediately, like she had been standing guard there all night. Maybe she had been. His tail wagged against her leg as he walked in past her through the door and she shut it quickly behind him. He was back to himself before Morgana had even turned around. She sagged back against the wall with relief and looked so unsteady Sirius rushed forward, concerned her legs would give way completely from under her. When he took her into his arms she was shaking. “Merlin, what are you thinking,” she mumbled against his robe, clinging to him with panicky tightness. “I was so scared.” She felt thin. He pulled back so he could inspect her face. Too pale, too tired, the circles under her eyes too dark. The moon was still four days away. He felt a guilty stab; he hadn’t meant to worry her, he just forgot what it was like to have people who cared. Add it to the heap of things he owed her an apology for, he thought dully.<br/>
<br/>
“Let’s sit, you look exhausted.” He steered her gently to the sofa.<br/>
<br/>
“You look--” she took him in greedily and Sirius felt himself flush. “You look better.” He smiled at her and watched her breath catch. “You must be hungry. There’s takeout in the fridge.” She made to get up, but Sirius waved her back.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll get it, sit.” He pulled out the containers from the fridge.<br/>
<br/>
“The forks are in the drawer on the right,” she directed, but Sirius already knew. It had been the same in Beauchamp Street; she always kept the silverware in the drawer closest the fridge. He snagged two forks and came back to his spot next to her. He passed her one, but she shook her head. “Did you hear about the World Cup?” He was already wolfing down the chicken and he only nodded. “What does it mean? Is it just a bunch of assholes blowing off steam or something more? Is he coming back? Do you think it’s connected to Harry’s dream?”<br/>
<br/>
“Mmhhmm.” Still chewing. Morgana let out a breath that didn’t quite achieve laugh.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bombard you when you only just got here.” He looked at her again. The last time he was here he had been flailing, grasping to keep from sinking into the morass of guilt that was all he had left. He hadn’t had the wherewithal to process anything other than the fact that she was here before him, forgiving him, tethering him to this world. He hadn’t really looked at her, not like he was now. He hadn’t noted the bone deep weariness in her that went beyond exhaustion. The heaviness to her movements that spoke of years of pain, defeat after defeat by the inexorable pull of the moon. The awful mark of grief was written in the lines of her face. It wasn’t the same as with him; she hadn’t changed. She just seemed...faded.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you okay?” He could feel a tightness growing in his chest, constricting and choking.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m just… tired.” And he could hear the truth in the space between her words. A harrowing glimpse into the void of loss that had served as her prison all this time. She had been the only one left. He had had the luxury of Azkaban, a small satisfaction that he was receiving a just punishment for his mistakes. But Morgana, she had been here. Alone. She had no choice but to go on, endure in this life because she had survived when so many others hadn’t. He never thought before that he had been lucky to have Azkaban. But looking at her now-- it made him feel like he was losing everyone all over again. “If he can just come back—was it all for nothing? Lily and James, Alice, Frank, Marlene, you…What was it all for?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not afraid of him,” he told her. And it was true. There were so many things that frightened him, but Voldemort was not one. “We fell apart last time because we were so scared we would lose everything. But, this time—you and I—we’ve already lost everything. And we survived. We made it through. Just let him try to tear us apart again.” She startled him by erupting into bitter laughter.<br/>
<br/>
“Merlin. Not even Azkaban could suck the defiant stupid out of you.” He wasn’t sure if this was meant to wound, but it did, and he could feel the shame creep into his cheeks again. Catching the look on his face, she sobered immediately. “Come here.” She demanded and dragged him over to her. His lips burned where they met with hers and he lost himself for a minute. He wasn’t sure if it was her that was shaking or him, but it felt like the universe was trembling around them. He pulled back. She looked breathless and unmoored and it was all too much.<br/>
<br/>
“Can I use your shower?” He stammered. She managed to nod.<br/>
<br/>
When he returned, she had fallen asleep. How many times had he seen her like this, stretched out, one arm thrown back over her head, so still it frightened him now the same way it had frightened him back them. He wanted to gather her close and bring her to the bed, but he knew his wasted arms would never manage her weight and his wasted heart would never manage… her. He shifted into Padfoot and curled into a tight ball on the floor next to the sofa.<br/>
<br/>
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep but when he came around again, she was awake. She was huddled in the corner of the sofa, arms wrapped around her legs, face buried in her knees. Sirius shifted back into himself and Morgana looked up. She was crying, her face puffy and red, cheeks damp. “Were you dreaming?” She asked in a small voice.<br/>
<br/>
Sirius honestly couldn’t remember. “I don’t know.” Morgana looked stricken. She took several shallow breaths.<br/>
<br/>
“You were howling,” she whispered. “But I couldn’t wake you up.” He knew he should say something, or do something, but he didn’t know what. In the past, maybe, he would have held her, but he wasn’t that man anymore and, in any case, he was too brittle. He might just break apart himself rather than hold her together. He could see his own brokenness reflected back at him in her fear and the magnitude of it was overwhelming. He shifted back to Padfoot. Morgana held her hand out to him but Padfoot shied away and slunk under the coffee table. She unfolded herself and crouched down after him. “Hi, Padfoot,” she said, softly, reaching out to him. She ran one finger down the length of his snout and he shivered. “I’m sorry. It’s okay. Come out, please?” Padfoot let out a whine, high in the back of his throat. Morgana eased herself into a sitting position and scratched behind his ears. He licked the inside of her wrist. Her fingers caught on a mat in his fur. “We’ll have to cut these out.” He crept out next to her, his tail resting on her ankle. She was crying again, and Sirius was dying. He changed back so suddenly he banged his knee on the coffee table.<br/>
<br/>
“Stop.” He said, voice ragged with desperation. She was cracking and it was crushing him, and it wasn’t fair but if she didn’t stop, it would drown him. For a split second, she looked so anguished he thought his heart did stop, but she stilled and her face went impassive. It was a wonder to behold, the way she could shove down all the pain and hurt and lock it away Merlin knew where. It was what had broken them before, the way she could shut it all out, but it would save them now, because he had learned his lesson and this time, he would let her shut him in there with her. And Merlin, he hadn’t known that he could love her this much because he hadn’t known he was alive enough to feel this much sorrow. She put her hands on both sides of his face.<br/>
<br/>
“Okay.” It sounded in control again and Sirius felt a surge of guilt, but it was nothing compared to his immeasurable relief and he collapsed against her. “I’m tired.” She said softly, stroking the back of his neck. <em>I know, Moony, I’m so sorry</em>. But he couldn’t say it, he only shuddered against her and let her brush back his hair with gentle fingers. <em>Get up, Sirius, you useless sack of shit</em>, he thought, depleted. <em>It’s the bare minimum you can do for her. So get the fuck up</em>. He pulled back and got to his feet jerkily. He held out his hand and she smiled up at him so gratefully that he almost lost it again.<br/>
<br/>
“Let’s go to bed, then.” She let him lead her down the hallway and it was such a small, irrelevant thing, but it felt good, to be the one in front for once. They slid wordlessly into the bed and before Sirius could wonder what to do with his arms, she was there against him. He let himself mold to the shape of her.<br/>
<br/>
“Sirius?” He closed his eyes and refused to look but she was tugging insistently at his face. She waited until he met her eyes and couldn’t look away. “It’s enough, you know. Whatever that’s left of you, it’s enough.” There was no stopping it this time, the shattering he felt inside, and he was bawling helplessly, pathetically. But she had always been stronger than he was. She held him close and gathered the falling pieces and he let go and let himself believe she would know how to put them back together again.</p><p> </p><p>“Sirius?!” He could hear the panic even from the kitchen and he kicked himself.<br/>
<br/>
“In here!” He yelled back, quickly. Thudding from the hall and she came tearing into the kitchen, sleep disheveled and terrified. “I was making breakfast.” He explained, meekly. She sagged down at the table, chest heaving.<br/>
<br/>
“Right. Of course.” She rubbed her face and visibly pulled herself together. She smiled at him, thinly. “What did you make?” He set a plate of eggs in front of her and sat down next to her.<br/>
<br/>
“I was too scared to use the toaster; I’ve forgotten how it works.” She smiled again, less forced and more affectionate.<br/>
<br/>
“You never knew how it worked.” He smiled tentatively back. It felt unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. She took a small bite of the eggs and set the fork back down. “What are you going to do about Harry?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll hide out on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, like I did last time. I just want to be close, just in case.” Morgana sighed but made no argument. Sirius gestured to the uneaten eggs. “That bad, huh?”<br/>
<br/>
“No, they’re great. I’m just not hungry.” She passed him the fork. “You eat them. I’m sure you don’t get many warm meals.” He studied her closely.<br/>
<br/>
“What do you do on the moon, Moony?”<br/><br/>
“I have a cellar.” The dismissiveness of her tone was more painful than the words. But it was a clean pain, uninfected with guilt and shame. The wolf was one thing that was not his fault. He could handle this. It felt invigorating to realize it.<br/>&lt;
<br/>
“I’ll stay until then, before going to Harry. I’ll stay in the cellar, too.” He could see the battle she was waging with herself, between keeping him here safe for a few days longer and her aversion to conceding she needed the help. But it seemed she was learning from the past too.<br/>
<br/>
“I’d like that.” He passed her back the fork.<br/>
<br/>
“Eat, Moony. Even just a little.” She shook her head.<br/>
<br/>
“I can’t. Leave me be, I’ll just throw it up.” Sirius did not know what to say to this, and he felt lost again. Had he always seesawed between emotions like this? It was draining.<br/>
<br/>
“There’s three days until the moon, still. You have to eat.” Morgana smiled at him with such unaffected tenderness Sirius felt dizzy.<br/>
<br/>
“I know. It’s okay. I’ll eat later, I promise. Let me just wake up a little.”<br/>
<br/>
“Coffee?” He suggested uncertainly.<br/>
<br/>
“That I will take.” She caught his hand as he went to stand and drew him into a kiss. “I missed you.” She whispered fervently against him. He felt himself becoming untethered again, but in a familiar way, the same way he’d always felt when he subsumed himself into her. The ache it brought forth was so bittersweet and real. “Back to bed?” She murmured and Sirius found his shaky arms did have the strength to lift her up after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Was there anyone else? While I was in Azkaban?” There was no malice in the question, Sirius was honestly just curious. He hardly knew anything about Morgana’s life since James and Lily had died. It was well past midday, and even with the curtains drawn shut, the heat from the sun permeated, baking them in the oven of Morgana’s tiny bedroom. Morgana herself was a veritable furnace next to him, radiating warmth, and their skin was sticky with sweat where their bodies met. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t have let her shift away from him even if she’d tried. Morgana quirked her mouth.<br/>
<br/>
“Only one worth mentioning.” Sirius lifted a brow and she smiled at the familiar expression. “Kingsley Shacklebolt.” Whatever Sirius had prepared himself for, it wasn’t that.<br/>
<br/>
“Really?” Morgana snorted.<br/>
<br/>
“What, are you shocked I was able to bag someone so posh?”<br/>
<br/>
“Of course not. I always knew you liked them devastatingly handsome,” he tried to flash her a roguish grin but could tell from her wistful expression he’d fallen short. “It’s just… I always thought Kingsley preferred blokes.”<br/>
<br/>
“He does. But he likes birds as well. A man of many tastes, our Kingsley.”<br/>
<br/>
“I see. And why did it end?”<br/>
<br/>
“You want me to tell you it was because he wasn’t you?” Morgana asked, dryly. He knew he should laugh or retort with something witty. He would have, in the past. But Morgana was all edges and angles, so sharp she sometimes cut without meaning to. And he was finding he’d lost the ability to shake it off, to keep up and spar. He was too worn out for anything other than the truth.<br/>
<br/>
“I want you to tell me that he was able to make you happy, even if only for a little while.” he said softly, and Morgana looked abashed. She opened her mouth to respond and then promptly snapped it back shut.<br/>
<br/>
“He made me happy. For a little while,” she said, finally, gently. Sirius recognized it for the lie that it was, but he was grateful anyway. He didn’t really want to hear about how he’d scorched the earth behind him so badly nothing could possibly have made her happy. Even when he knew it to be true.<br/>
<br/>
“So why did it end?” She smiled at him slyly.<br/>
<br/>
“Because he wasn’t you.” Sirius let out a breathy laugh and was rewarded with a languid kiss. “I couldn’t make him happy either.” She murmured. Sirius, deciding he didn’t care to hear any more about Kingsley Shacklebolt, leaned up to continue what she’d started, but Morgana broke away. “Can I ask you something?”<br/>
<br/>
“Right now?” Sirius asked, breathless.<br/>
<br/>
“How long did it really take you to figure out you could break out?” Stifling as the room was, Sirius could still feel the cold of Azkaban, entrenched so deep it was embedded even in his marrow.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you sure you want to ask me that right now?” He repeated, in a tone that made it an entirely new question. Morgana bit her lip. The move seemed demure, but Sirius knew her well enough to know it wasn’t. She wouldn’t be deterred. Again, he knew what he would have done. What he should do, really. Evade, omit, obfuscate, and avoid. But again, he was too exhausted, pared down too close to his core to offer anything but fact. “I knew 4 months in.” He watched her closely but only a slight clench of the jaw betrayed her.<br/>
<br/>
“How?”<br/>
<br/>
“I went out of my cell once.” A shaky breath that time, but she was still mostly impressively impassive. “They had brought someone new in, four cells down. I heard him screaming and I thought…I thought it was Regulus.” Morgana closed her eyes for a moment, a beat too long to be a blink.<br/>
<br/>
“But you already knew by that time. That he was dead.” Sirius smiled at her and it must have been an awful thing to see because she flinched.<br/>
<br/>
“You try keeping those things straight with the dementors around.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, Sirius.”<br/>
<br/>
“So I slipped out of the cell—I’d already lost enough weight by then—and I went to see. It wasn’t Regulus. It was Barty Crouch. Junior, of course.”<br/>
<br/>
“And then?” She whispered. Her eyes were wide and shimmery, scared and sorry and horrified.<br/>
<br/>
“And then… I went back to my cell.” Morgana buried her face into his chest. But when she looked up again the shiny wetness in her eyes had evaporated.<br/>
<br/>
“Why?” Steely and cold. Sirius was relieved. He wanted her to take that anger and wrap herself up in it. Like armor.<br/>
<br/>
“You know why.”<br/>
<br/>
“I truly fucking do not. Why would you go back to that bloody god forsaken cell when you knew you were innocent?”<br/>
<br/>
“The same reason you wouldn’t let Kingsley Shacklebolt make you happy.” Morgana was shaking her head.<br/>
<br/>
“You are seriously fucked in the head, you know? Not just now, after, but always.” She stilled again. “Someday, I am going to be very fucking angry at you for that.”<br/>
<br/>
“But not today?” He wanted it to sound nonchalant. The cocky casual boredom that used to come so naturally to him. Instead, it sounded meek and pleading. It was humiliating.<br/>
<br/>
“Not today. I worried too much and wanted you here too badly for you to fuck this up with your insane notions of what you deserve. And…I have to tell you something.” If Sirius had had the strength, he would have found a way to stop her. To keep her from continuing to speak, to leave, if he had to, so he wouldn’t have to hear what came next. But he didn’t have any strength left, no defense to protect himself and anyway, this was what he wanted, right? To hear everything, this time? So he listened, terrified. “You wanted to know, why I left without saying anything, the night Regulus died…I let Regulus walk away, once. He saved me, and I should have stopped him. I should have forced him to come with me. To bring him home to you. He wasn’t all bad, not even in the end. But I let him walk away.” She was breathing hard and staring at him even harder. She waited, tensely. “What are you feeling?” Yielding finally, when he still hadn’t answered. <em>What am I feeling?</em> And again, the only thing that he had left inside to say was the truth.<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t feel anything.” Morgana shuddered and Sirius wondered, numbly, how many hours she had spent agonizing over this. If Regulus was alive, Sirius would have loved to deck him right in the face. “It’s alright, Moony. You can let that one go. I let Reg walk away too many times myself to hold that against anyone else.” Morgana took several more breaths, each shakier than the last. But she didn’t cry.<br/>
<br/>
“I won’t let you fuck this up.” She said again, firmly, before kissing him fiercely, roughly, and Sirius was nonsensically proud.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The chains rattled with an ominous clinking as Sirius hefted the heavy links between his skeletal hands. Morgana could feel the tension mounting around him in the cramped cellar and waited for the argument. Sirius had always vehemently opposed chaining her up, obnoxiously so. He let his hands fall and the chain slithered from his limp fingers back to the floor, making a clank each time a link hit the ground. There was no echo, the dank, wet air swallowed the sound and lent the room a 2-dimensional dreamlike quality. She waited, but no argument came. He only stood there, still and vacant. Morgana didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She stared at his hands; the skin so pale she could see the faint blue traces of his veins. “Have you ever played a piano?” She asked, suddenly.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” She sighed and touched him lightly on the arm. “So now you’ve seen the cellar. Let’s go back up.” He nodded vaguely and trailed after her up the stairs. They were already up the path and back inside when he darted his hand out and grabbed her wrist.</p>
<p>“Why?” It was like he’d only just now thought of a way to keep the conversation going. <em>He’s still in there, just be patient</em>. She reminded herself. Outwardly, she shrugged.</p>
<p>“Just curious.” She grabbed one of his hands in both of hers. “You have such nice hands. I’ve always wondered but never got around to asking.”</p>
<p>“Have you ever played?”</p>
<p>“Never very well.” He had that distant look again and Morgana thought she’d lost him once more, before he started speaking.</p>
<p>“Once I put a Filibusters into the top of one, though. Outside of Florean Fortescue’s. The bang was fantastic, out of tune, keys flying everywhere.” It was so unexpected, Morgana burst out laughing and Sirius jumped.</p>
<p>“What? What’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed by his expression, digging her fingers into him, probably painfully. He took a second to recover.</p>
<p>“Nothing, just…It’s good to hear you laugh like that, is all. I’d forgotten…” He was confused again, and Morgana felt a fresh wave of hurt. Just when she thought she had an inkling of what Azkaban had done to him, she found instead a new way it had broken him. She thought again of what he had told her, yesterday, about choosing to stay in there. The knowledge was enough to make her want to lie down and give up right there. She could see him interpreting the look on her face and watched as he physically cringed with his entire body. Morgana locked him in her death grip to keep him from skittering away. He was more skittish than the first time she had seen him, after the Shrieking Shack, and Morgana realized it was because he was more alive this time. She felt like crying again and quickly swallowed it down. But each time, it was getting harder to ignore her own pain.</p>
<p>“I’ll just have to laugh more often then,” she whispered to him, nuzzling his cheek. “I love you.” She couldn’t keep herself from saying. He went limp against her again, leaning into her like he was surrendering, and Morgana wished she had killed Peter Pettigrew after all. He stepped back of his own accord and Morgana flopped onto the sofa. He didn’t follow, but instead wandered around the cottage, running his fingers along her books and picking things up here and there to examine them. He stopped at her small potted plant and rubbed a leaf between thumb and forefinger.</p>
<p>“Neville gave me that.” Sirius looked up.</p>
<p>“Longbottom?” Morgana nodded and a small smile rose to Sirius’s lips. “I always thought he and Harry would be best friends, like me and…” he trailed off before saying the name. “Is he an ace dueler, like his mother?”</p>
<p>“He’s… very sweet. He once spelled a boggart shaped like Snape into his grandmother’s clothes.” Sirius let out a barking laugh and Morgana’s heart lurched. “Vulture hat?” And Morgana laughed again. It felt like winter and chocolate and all the things she loved.</p>
<p>“Obviously.” Sirius took a seat next to her, limbs akimbo, taking up more space than necessary, and it was almost like old times. “I’ve had an owl, while you were in the shower this morning, from Minerva. Dumbledore’s hired Alastor Moody for defense.”</p>
<p>“Minerva.” Said Sirius, amused, rolling the name around in his mouth. “Well, old Mad-Eye will certainly watch Harry like a hawk, at least. Protect him from things he probably doesn’t even need protecting from.” There was a tinge of bitterness at that last and Morgana remembered, too late, who had arrested Sirius all those years ago.</p>
<p>“Are you sure it’s a good idea to go to Hogwarts now? With Moody there, it’ll be safer for Harry. And less safe for you.” Sirius looked at her, his eyes sharper and clearer than usual.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t care if every last auror in the Ministry was there watching out for Harry. I’m going.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Morgana conceded, knowing already an argument lost. “Then I guess it’s also no use hiding from you anymore that Dumbledore is hosting the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts this year.” Sirius leapt to his feet, eyes blazing.</p>
<p>“What the fuck is that doddering old fool thinking!? Death Eaters back and Harry’s scar hurting, and he wants to invite all of Europe into Hogwarts for a death tournament?” Morgana rubbed her temples. She could already feel the headache building, the moon pounding in her skull.</p>
<p>“Sit down. There’s no use yelling at me about it.” He caught her pained expression and deflated immediately. He sat back down with a submissiveness that was wholly alien to her idea of Sirius.</p>
<p>“I’m going to be there for Harry. I won’t abandon him again.” He said, softly. Morgana readjusted herself so she could stretch out, draping her legs over Sirius’s lap. It served to ease the tension in her head as well as to trap him there next to her.</p>
<p>“I know, Sirius. I’m not saying not to be there for him just… be smart.” He wrapped his fingers around one of her ankles but said nothing in return. “By the way,” she said, casting around for a neutral topic and landing on something she was genuinely curious about. “What in Merlin’s name did you do with the hippogriff?” Sirius chuckled.</p>
<p>“He’s in the woods behind your cottage. I’ll collect him when I fly to Hogwarts.”</p>
<p>“Of course you will.” Morgana said, weakly. She should have figured that she was asking too much, hoping that Sirius would have just released the thing somewhere in the wild. It should have heartened her to know he was still brash and reckless, qualities as intrinsic to Sirius as anything else. But the idea of him flying across the English countryside on something as conspicuous as a hippogriff made her stomach turn. He glanced at her, the barest hint of his old self flashing through.</p>
<p>“Least Buckbeak’s quieter than the motorbike.” He turned wistful. “I wonder whatever happened to that old bike.”</p>
<p>“Hagrid has it. He still rides it, sometimes.” Sirius threw his head back and laughed, full throated, and Morgana thought she would give up all her worldly possessions and then some to make him laugh like that, always.</p>
<p>“ ‘That Sirius Black—he murdered James and Lily and 13 muggles… but I’m still gonna keep that bike, though.’ ” He laughed again. “I always knew Hagrid was smarter than everyone gave him credit for.”</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <b>
      <br/>
    </b>
  </b>
</p>
<p>They went back down to the cellar at dusk, in grim silence. The summer air felt hot and sticky, clinging with a suffocating oppressiveness, so dense and humid it felt like water in her lungs. The stairs to the cellar yawned wide in front of her, descending into a darkness as black as a grave. Morgana could feel the night closing in around her. It had been so long since someone had joined her on the moon, and she found herself suddenly overcome with terror. She turned to Sirius next to her and grabbed at his robe desperately. “Maybe it would be better if you didn’t—”<br/>
<br/>
“Hush.” And Morgana wondered if he’d grown more patient or if was just the toll of Azkaban that made him sound so mild. He disentangled her clutching hands with nimble fingers and nudged her towards the stairs. She froze again at the top and Sirius stepped around her. Without turning to look behind him, he held his hand out to her and pulled her steadily down the steps. “Lumos.” He said and Morgana was so jumpy she nearly lost her footing. “Easy, Moony,” he soothed, waiting until she recovered before beginning down again. When at last they reached the bottom, Morgana made a beeline over to the chains. “Already?” Sirius asked. In answer, Morgana wrapped the cool metal of the shackle around her wrist and it snapped closed with a comforting click. She felt a little better, with her arm restrained, as though the chains were tethering her to sanity rather than restraining her. A wave of nausea crashed into her and she had to pause, waiting for it to pass.<br/>
<br/>
“Do the other hand for me, will you?” She expected resistance, but Sirius bent wordlessly and locked the second shackle into place. He took a step back and sat down on the cement, leaning his back against the wall. He watched silently as she paced around as far as the chains would allow, scraping and clanging against the ground as they dragged behind her.<br/>
<br/>
“Moony.” Sirius called softly, patting the floor next to him. Morgana kept pacing. She was too keyed up to sit still. “Please, come sit.” He said, plaintively. She glanced over at him, hunched and pleading and he looked so diminished that Morgana stopped. He patted the floor again and sighing, she came and sat next to him. “It’s going to be okay.” He said, scooting closer. He seemed to sense instinctively that she was too cagey to be touched so he only wrapped his arms tightly about his own knees instead.<br/>
<br/>
“When I was at Hogwarts Dumbledore had Snape brew me the wolfsbane potion,” she told him, distractedly, just to keep herself occupied. “I guess you knew that already.”<br/>
<br/>
“Why doesn’t he have him brew you some, still?” Morgana shrugged.<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t know. Probably because he doesn’t have a use for me, at the moment.”<br/>
<br/>
“Fuck Dumbledore.” Morgana snorted. She pulled one of his arms and wrapped it around her shoulders. Surprised, he stiffened initially before dragging her closer still. It was sweltering in the cellar, but Morgana shivered. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here, Moony.” He whispered.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m sorry I thought you were a murderer for twelve years.” She rejoined and Sirius let out the barest of laughs. They sat that way silently, clinging to each other until the grinding in her joints became unbearable and Morgana asked him in a trembling voice to change into Padfoot. Then everything faded into a haze of pain and she remembered no more.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sirius swam into focus. Even ravaged by Azkaban, he was still handsome. His face was too gaunt, but the leanness served to make his cheekbones sharper and though his eyes were more frightening than pretty these days, his lashes were still dark and full and curled in a beautiful arc. Somehow, he had managed to bring her up from the cellar and deposit her back in bed. She wondered where he had found the strength. He was leaning over her, troubled and lost, but mercifully unscathed. She reached up to cup his face, running her thumb across his lips. “What’s wrong, darling?” He shook himself, so much like Padfoot that she would have laughed if her body didn’t ache so.<br/><br/>“I forget every time,” he whispered. “How terrible it is when you change.” She tugged him down on top of her, and even though she could only manage a feeble pull, he came easily. He was so pliant, he went wherever she put him, and this was a new thing too. He had never been pliant before. <em>I love you anyway</em>, she wanted to remind him, but it would only highlight how much he’d been damaged, and he seemed so fragile, today. She was afraid he might break apart again. She wasn’t sure how many times he could be put back together before he’d crumble away completely. Besides, she didn’t have the strength, not after the moon, and maybe not at all. Her joints creaked and throbbed, even with what little weight he had pressing down on her, but it was worth the stress on her tired body to feel the tension drain out of his. “I tried to heal you, but I couldn’t get the spells to work.” He muttered, and Morgana closed her eyes. Even his magic was damaged. But it didn’t matter really, she had been doing this without him for years.<br/><br/>“But it was still much better, with you there,” she said it to reassure him, but she realized with a gut-wrenching jolt how true it was. And she remembered again the misery of a world without him and for a moment felt an unspeakable terror. She clutched at him, tight and desperate, but thankfully he didn’t seem to have noticed. “Normally at least one of my wrists is broken.”<br/><br/>“I undid the chains.” He murmured against her neck and Morgana stiffened. This was absolutely unacceptable. She couldn’t even fathom how he’d managed to get the chains off in the first place without getting bit. The thought of him so close and exposed made her want to shake him, screaming. But since he was still safe and whole in front of her and she felt too much like death warmed over, she only sent up a silent prayer and let it slide. He caught her that time though. For someone so dimmed, he was still ungodly perceptive. “You don’t need them when I’m here.” Firm and just shy of petulant. It was the argument she had been expecting earlier. He sounded so much like his old self in that brief moment, over-confident, self-assured, damn anything that wasn’t what he thought. Morgana, frayed and exhausted, drained emotionally and physically, felt a small, hysterical laugh bubble out. Sirius shifted against her so he could look at her face and she winced when her body protested the movement.<br/><br/>“I’m okay,” she mumbled, her voice already muddled as she sank rapidly back into unconsciousness.<br/><br/>When she woke again, Sirius was still there, asleep, heavy and warm on top of her. His elbow was digging into a painful bruise in her side and her bladder ready to burst, but she wouldn’t have moved him for all the galleons in Gringotts. He had never been a deep sleeper, in the past he would have been awake already, somehow always sensing when she was no longer asleep. But this was another thing time and trauma had changed. She wished he looked peaceful. He’d truly terrified her, that first night, when she’d awoken to Padfoot’s howls, more human and more miserable than anything she’d ever heard. She’d gone over and placed her hands in his thick fur, fingers sinking too easy against his ribs and shook until she thought she might snap his neck. But still he’d slept and still he’d howled. It was heartbreaking. She thought of all the nights he must have spent that way, shivering and suffering, curled in on himself. James and Lily had died, but Sirius had suffered. And Voldemort might not be gone after all.<br/><br/>Maybe Voldemort didn’t frighten Sirius, but he frightened Morgana. Her life, her heart, her goddamn psyche, all had been torn apart after fighting Voldemort the first time. Everything had been taken from them. And while Sirius thought that meant they had been hurt as badly as they could be, she knew how wrong he was. All she had to do was listen to the fervent way he vowed to protect Harry. And if something happened to Harry—Morgana shuddered. Sirius shifted against her but didn’t wake. He was never more present than when he spoke of Harry. It stoked a fire in his eyes reminiscent of his younger self and he smiled in a way that took years off his face. But it was a double-edged sword. Sirius had gathered what little of himself he’d managed to recover since escaping Azkaban and hinged it all on protecting Harry. That was fine as long as Harry was safe, but Morgana knew how fragile that was. She knew because she’d pinned all of herself on Sirius. She took a deep breath, and Sirius stirred.<br/><br/>“Moony?” Even the way he said her name was different. Timid and reverent. “How are you feeling now? Will you eat something?” Morgana smiled. He was so concerned about her eating, as though he didn’t probably weigh the same as her these days, despite being a nearly a foot taller. Maybe it was the only way he could remember to show he cared.<br/><br/>“I’m okay. I’m still too nauseous to eat.” And again, in the past he would have argued, or given her that stubborn, mulish look he had down so pat, but now he only stared, still and consuming. Morgana had no clue what he was thinking. “I promise I will.” She added uncertainly. He stared an uninterpretable moment longer and then got to his feet. Morgana bit back the undignified sound that rose in her throat at the loss of him. She hadn’t meant to let him do this again, hadn’t meant to let him take over so completely and become the only thing that mattered, but there was no preventing it, it seemed.<br/><br/>“I’ll make something before I go so you can have it later.” She took in a sharp intake of breath.<br/><br/>“You’re leaving already?” The pathetic, pleading in her own voice dismayed her. She wished he would come back, hold her close and whisper away her fear. But he only reached down for his shoes.<br/><br/>“Harry.” He said, as though that explained everything. Morgana supposed it did. She tried to sit up but each moon it took her longer and longer to recover, and her battered body would just not respond. She watched silently as he laced up his shoes and made his way out of the room. She could hear him, clattering around in the kitchen. The clanging of the pans conjured memories and dreams of what might have been. Presently, he returned and sat on the edge of the bed.<br/><br/>"I’ll write you, when I see Harry.” When she made no answer, he turned to stroke her hair.<br/><br/>“Okay.” It was all she trusted herself to manage. There was empty water glass on her nightstand, next to her wand, and Sirius grabbed both.<br/><br/>“Augmenti.” He made a noise of surprise. “Your wand works for me better than the one I have.”<br/><br/>“Take it, then. You’ll need it. I’ll get a new one.” He narrowed his eyes at her shrewdly.<br/><br/>“With what money?”<br/><br/>“They did pay me, at Hogwarts, you know.”<br/><br/>“Right, and the job offers have been lining up since.” he said dryly. “I’ll send you some gold.” Morgana wished she had the pride to argue, but the years had made her more practical.<br/><br/>“Alright, I’d appreciate that. If you can manage it safely. I don’t understand how you keep getting access to your vault without getting caught. It doesn’t make sense.”<br/><br/>“Gold is gold to the goblins, Moony. You of all people know how the Ministry treats non-humans. They’ve nothing to gain by turning me in.” He paused, contemplative. “It makes an odd sort of sense, doesn’t it? Me using your wand.” Without waiting for her to respond, he shoved the wand into his pocket and changed into Padfoot. Morgana sighed. For people who said goodbye as often as the two of them, they never got any better at them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As loath as Sirius was to leave Morgana, it was a decided relief to trot away from the tiny cottage. He hadn’t really realized the heaviness of the emotional toll of the last few days until he could feel the stress of them melting away. He’d spent the better part of his time with her trying futilely to measure up to the man he used to be, and it was a welcome respite to finally let down his guard. It was much easier, when he didn’t have to attempt to conceal how broken he was. It was good, also, to have purpose. With every step his eagerness to see Harry mounted. When he reached the edge of the woods, he sped up into an easy lope, nose to the ground to sniff out Buckbeak. He didn’t have to search long; there was a distinct swooping noise, and he was engulfed in the shadow of a giant wingspan. Buckbeak landed in front of him with quiet, surprising grace for a creature seemingly so ungainly. Sirius turned back into himself. “Hey, boy,” he greeted softly, stretching out his hand. Buckbeak nuzzled it with feathery head. “Ready to visit Harry?”</p><p>They made remarkable time, Buckbeak flying tirelessly, alternately soaring and flapping steadily. Sirius leaned against his sleek neck and carefully turned over everything that had transpired the past few days. He lingered over the details of Morgana’s face, the way she felt against him, the softness of her skin. His first real new memories, untouched by the rotting grip of the dementors. He cherished them. He thought carefully over what he would say to Harry when they were finally together again. There were so many questions to ask, so many things he wanted to say. In the end, there was simply too much to choose from, so he gave up and hoped the words would come to him when the time came. He watched the countryside below him and marveled at the vastness of the open sky. The methodical beating of Buckbeak’s wings lulled him, and he let his over-taxed mind empty and wander. It felt like freedom, and for the first time in a very long time, Sirius felt content.</p><p>It was near dusk by the time he reached the cave on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Slipping back to Padfoot while dismounting, he turned and climbed up the rocky hillside. He trusted Buckbeak to follow. Safe in the darkness of the cave, he transformed back to himself and surveyed his surroundings. When he was last been here, he had been more beast than man, a desperate wretch. In the dim light he could make out the discarded bones of past meals, rats that had strayed too close to his clutching hands, but he regarded these remnants of his previous stay with detachment. They were the leavings of a creature barely clinging to life, one convicted and condemned. He was no longer that creature. He had purpose now besides vengeance, and, to protect Harry, he would gladly eat a thousand more rats with never a second thought.</p><p>The cave was dark and dank and the flight to Hogsmeade had left Sirius chilled, but he dared not chance a fire. He pulled out Morgana’s wand and settled for a warming charm. Sirius could feel the magic flow through her wand and up into his arm, the warmth spreading over his skin. Buckbeak circled around the cave once and then lowered his cumbersome body so he was stretched out against the back wall. Sirius took a seat next to him, leaning back with a sigh against his soft, feathery haunch. He cradled Morgana’s wand against his chest. The wand chose the wizard, the wand seller Ollivander had been wont to say, and it was true. Every wizard’s wand acted as an extension of the wizard themself, as attune to the owner as though it were an extra limb. There was a perfect sort of symmetry, Sirius thought, that he should be able to use Morgana’s wand so effortlessly. For he, too, felt as though he were only an extension of her, kept alive and bolstered entirely through her strength and her love. Together, with her magic channeled through the vessel of his body, they would protect Harry. Lily and James’s only son, watched over by Lily and James’s only two surviving friends.</p><p>Sirius reached into the small duffel bag Morgana had retrieved for him and pulled out quill and parchment. He sat with the quill poised above the letter for a long while, ink dripping onto the blank paper while he pondered his words. Finally, he bent over and began to write.</p><p><em>Harry,</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>There are a great many things that I wish to say, and an even greater number of things I wish to atone for. But these are not your burdens to bear, so instead I will write to you of your parents. I am sure you have heard many stories of your mother from your aunt, but I can say with all certainty that she did not know your parents as I did. My memories are not what they once were; the dementors have twisted everything so that even the happiest moments of my life play in my mind like scenes of tragedy. But even so, the goodness of your mother and father was such that not even twelve years in the clutches of hell could do anything to diminish that knowledge in my brain.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I first met your father where most students first meet, on the Hogwarts Express. You may be surprised to hear, but our first encounter did not go so well. Some choice words about Gryffindor and Slytherin and stupid hair were exchanged, as well as some curses. Seeing as we were both only ickle firsties with no magical training, the best I managed to do was break a latch on his trunk. Your father managed to disappear one of my shoelaces. Impressive, I know. We were quite proud of ourselves. As for Morgana, I never noticed it at the time, but when the dementors were kind enough to replay me the scene, I realized that she passed by in the corridor. She never said anything, but after she was gone, both my shoe and James’s trunk were fixed.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>We didn’t speak again until after I was sorted. I feel you should know, whatever he became later, Peter was the first person to be kind to me and welcome me into Gryffindor House. It was much appreciated; at the time, no one really wanted the Black heir at their table. That first feast at Hogwarts was certainly one for the ages. My cousin Bellatrix walked the length of the Great Hall with the singular purpose of upending an entire goblet of pumpkin juice onto my head. Whatever feelings your father may have had about me, he could NOT abide a direct attack on a Gryffindor at their very own table and so he went straight for the mashed potatoes. To this day, I don’t know why he used his wand instead of the perfectly good serving spoon in front of him. His magic skills weren’t quite up to par, and rather than splattering Bellatrix, he only succeeding in exploding the mashed potatoes onto himself and his fellow Gryffindors. But then again, maybe that was his intent, because he roared with laughter and then threw a chicken leg. We should have realized then what an incredible athlete he would become; the leg soared in a perfect arc and struck Bellatrix dead between the eyes. I’m sure if you asked anyone who was there now, they’d all say that it was Sirius Black who was responsible for the Food Fight Feast of ’72, but just know, it was your father.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I don’t remember meeting your mother, but I do know that we became friends long before either of us realized. Your mother was always down at Hagrid’s hut, helping him with his animals, with his plants, with whatever new pickle he found himself in at the time. She would always get up early and race down past the lake. She ran everywhere. Your mother was many wonderful things, but one thing she was terrible at was time management. It used to drive Moony crazy. She could leave half an hour early and somehow still arrive half an hour late. After we became animagus but before your mother became friends with us, I used to like to go out in the mornings as Padfoot and run by the lake. Lily would race past every morning, a piece of toast clutched in her hand. But every time she spotted Padfoot she’d stop. “I told Hagrid I’d be there at 7, Snuffles, I can’t play today!” But she always did, anyway. Thank Merlin we were finally actually friends in human form by the time she realized Sirius and Snuffles were the same.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I’ve never told anyone this, but the real reason I figured out so quickly that Moony was a werewolf was not because I’m just that clever, but because she hated astronomy. It didn’t make sense. I had seen her answer every question in transfiguration, read the books on the not required ‘extra reading’ list, and even do arithmancy in her free period for “fun”. But astronomy she hated. What did she have against stars? There had to be a reason. It wasn’t hard to puzzle out from there. I told James what I suspected about the quiet girl in our year. “Do you think she’s ever bit anyone? Do you think she eats them? I’m going to ask her!” Your father decked me right in the face. “Leave her alone, Sirius. She probably doesn’t want anyone to know.” Well, he was right, as usual. Morgana hated me. She wanted nothing to do with me. You should ask her sometime, what your father said to her to get her to finally hang out with us. I’ve never heard. But that’s the way he was, kind and a whole fuck of a lot smarter than me when it came to how to treat people.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I used to have a flying motorbike. I don’t know if you know this, but you’ve actually been on it. I gave it to Hagrid when he rescued you from the rubble of your parents’ home. James refused to ride it. He was certain I’d kill the both of us with my flying. Morgana really only wanted to ride if she could drive, in which case, I refused to ride because I was certain she would kill the both of us with her flying. But your mother, she loved it. She never minded how fast I went, or how quickly I descended. She liked it better than a broom, much to your father’s consternation. In the early days, when it was still safe to go out, whenever James or Moony was on duty with the Order, I’d take her out and we’d fly around for hours until we knew they were safe again. Sometimes she would lecture me while we rode, about how I should be less reckless and more careful, more considerate of Morgana who worried, less impulsive, less wild—only from her, it never felt like a lecture. I wish I had been smart enough to listen.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I’ve always wondered when it was that I fell in love with Morgana. Most like there wasn’t a single big moment, but a mountain of many, stacked high and tall and ever growing. With us it was always a push and pull, two stubborn and headstrong people, both broken but in different ways, trying to navigate together without cutting each other too deeply with our sharp edges. But your parents, their love was never like that. They understood each other intuitively, and when they didn’t, they explained themselves with patience and care, with an openness I envied. And when they had you—I’ve never seen two people happier. It’s no surprise to me that you survived. You are the product of their love, and their love was stronger than anything.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>Here are some stray facts:</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>-Your father enjoyed knitting. He once made Moony a jumper she loved so much she swore she would be buried in it.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>-One summer your mom’s best friend Marlene went to America and brought back a jar peanut butter. Lily insisted it was better than anything you could get at home. She put it on everything, I mean, everything—chips, pickles, spaghetti. It was disgusting.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>-Lily once accidentally put James’s signed Henrik Hammerkojld jersey in the wash. He came to our flat in near tears. When I laughed, he refused to speak to me for four days.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>-Lily made me and Moony promise to secretly take a picture of every engagement ring James looked at so she could ok the choice. He surprised us all by buying one himself, one day, without consulting anyone. She confided to Moony it was the gaudiest thing she’d ever seen—but she loved it anyway.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>-I once saw your father dive for the snitch, almost run into a chaser for Ravenclaw, intercept the quaffle, chuck it to an open Gryffindor chaser who scored, then swerve around a bludger, and still catch the snitch.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>-The worst fight I ever saw between your parents was when James insisted on naming you Gandalf. Be glad your mother won that one.</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>I’m so sorry, Harry. They should be here, telling you these stories themselves. I’m sorry it took me this long to be here for you. It’s my fault</em><br/>
<br/>
Here Sirius paused. What words could possibly convey to Harry the enormity of his feeling? There weren’t any. Sirius sighed and set the quill aside. He waved the unfinished letter in the air a few times to dry the ink and then carefully folded the parchment and stowed it away in his duffel. Maybe later he would find an adequate way to end it or find the courage to send the letter as it was, but not now. He shifted back to Padfoot, curled nose under tail, and went to sleep.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Short scene much later, at the beginning of Order of the Phoenix. Takes place at Grimmauld Place. Eventually everything will connect...</p><p> </p><p>“I need to get out of here, Moony, even for a minute. I’m crawling up the walls. I just want to go outside. Let me go with you lot to Kings Cross. I can go as Padfoot, none the wiser.”<br/>
“The time has long since passed when you are allowed to act on every whim, Sirius.”<br/>
“Listen to me. Everyone always assumes—” he sighed, “no, nevermind.”<br/>
“Oh? What happened to just saying everything?” She asked. Sirius snorted.<br/>
“Blimey, I forgot how good you were at that, throwing my own words back into my face.” Morgana waited.<br/>
“Well?” She said, at last. “You’ve already started saying it.” Sirius rubbed his hand across his face.<br/>
“Everyone assumes that the dementors deaden you inside. Suck out the marrow of your soul until there’s nothing left to feel. But that isn’t true. Not at all. It’s just the opposite. They amplify everything; make you feel everything. And everything? Everything hurts, Morgana. Every time you leave, or Harry, I just sit here, suffocating. And this damn place—” he exhaled sharply. “I’m rotting from the inside, Moony. I need out. Just for a minute.” Morgana bit her lip.<br/>
“You would have to be so careful,” she said, tiredly. “If you got caught…”<br/>
“I haven’t been yet, have I? I’ll be careful.” She let out a shaky breath.<br/>
“Well, this feels familiar, doesn’t it? Me trying to talk you out of something stupid, and you telling me it’ll be fine?” Sirius smiled ruefully. “Does it…” She trailed off.<br/>
“Out with it. I showed you mine.”<br/>
“Does it help at all? Being with me?” Sirius hated himself for ever having allowed any room between them for her to even wonder.<br/>
“Come here.” He wrapped her tightly in his arms. “You have to know that it does.” He whispered, with fervor. “I need you to know that it does.” <em>I just wish it were enough</em>, he thought, silently.</p>
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